Little Voice
by RaeynnBeau
Summary: Barty Crouch Jr. been attracted to his oblivious friend Regulus Black for several years now, and til now, he has been excellent at keeping that from him. Title from the album by Sara Bareilles, which is where all chapter names/lyrics are from. Rated for mild citrus in first chapter, heavier citrus in the last chapter, and language. Companion fic to Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man.
1. Morningside

**Morningside**

"_I could try to forget what you do when I let you get__ t__hrough to me but then you do it over again … __I could rage like a fire, and you'd bring rain I desire … __'Till you get to me on my Morningside …_" ~Morningside by Sara Bareilles

Sweat.

Heat.

Panting.

A name; quiet on sleeping lips – the barest of whispers. The movement of the skin was slow and languid – barely there at all … Unlike the desperate fantasy that played out behind his closed eyes; the movements took his breath away, his heart raced – the noises in this dreamscape echoed and arched; writhed through the air around the bodies that mimicked the sounds. The sounds that danced only for the two of them, hidden in the black, a white-hot crouch against the sheets …

"_Nnnng … R-Re—"_

Muddied hazel-green eyes snapped open, and a sharp intake of breath heralded his waking. Laying where he was, the teenager panted, too-long bangs that his mother would have cut in a heartbeat had he been home matted against his cheeks and the sides of his face … It was a long stretch of time, staring blankly at the ceiling, before he realized where he was exactly. The emerald green draperies that enclosed his bed gave him a substantial clue, and once he had that clue, well ...

"… Fuck …" was all he managed to get out in a harsh whisper, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead and pushing the sticky blond mess out of his face. His pale skin was cold, clammy, and against his flushed face it felt almost refreshing as he slid it down his own cheek, eventually settling it on the back of his neck_. Calm … Just be calm and forget about it … He's not there…_ he thought to himself, feeling his body tremble under the heavy comforter though he was not the least bit cold, but he was decidedly alone. His mental command, however, did nothing to quell the ache that he noticed as soon as he re-closed his eyes; he could feel the stimulated pulse in his temples like his mother pounding on the bedroom door to wake him up during the summer. Funny, because most of his blood seemed to be occupied elsewhere, and yet it still managed to strike his skull incessantly above his eyes.

Yes, that _other_ ache had not gone unnoticed.

Ignoring it was … foolish at best, and he knew it; it wasn't often he had this problem, but when he did it could be … Persistent. It was this fact that prompted him to disentangle from his far, _far_ too warm sheets. At the same time he tried to use a hand to push the curtain that fell around his bed out of the way so that he could leave the dormitory quickly, with less chance of being noticed. The last thing he wanted was for someone to notice his departure. Of course, fate was never on his side, and in order to keep his ankle from breaking, since it had decided to remain ensnared when he started to move after mostly escaping his blanket-y prison, he had to grab the curtains he was moving with one hand and fall onto the bedside table with the other. This caused it to skid across the stone floor an inch or so, and produced a most foul noise to accompany the action, such that he was sure the entire dormitory would be roused.

The sixth year froze in place, attempting to stop every action, even _breathing_, though he had set his untangled foot on the stone floor to help keep his balance and it was so cold against his free foot it felt like it was being burned. He didn't even dare close his eyes, lets his eyelids somehow produce a sound more offensive than the table, and _that _be what got someone's attention. The only noise had been the sound of snoring and rolling over, and at that he had nearly choked on his heart. But, since it felt like the muscles in his chest were attempting to crush his ribcage, it was probably good that his heart had moved while it had the chance. The next few seconds felt like the duration of a Quidditch match; it felt like he had tensed every muscle in his body so hard that it hurt … Or maybe that was just the one muscle that was the source of his current troubles – hard to say, no pun intended.

Eventually he allowed a slow breath to escape him and he closed his eyes, noticing his throat was dry and sore from the previous rapid movement of air back and forth, to and from the cavern of his lungs. Licking his chapped lips, he carefully slid the foot that had tried to kill him out from under the sheets, gingerly pulling up the loose pants he was wearing and waiting to see if there was any more movement from his dorm mates. Pressing his hand against his lips, he tried to breathe evenly, pushing back the dream, down somewhere that it would hopefully never resurface from. Of course it always _did _rear it's ugly head again, but, well, hope is hard to kill. Swallowing past the cotton in his throat, his bare feet padded softly across the winter-chilled stones that made up the floor, eventually getting used to the burn he felt against his skin. It was almost comforting, the sharp contrast to how hot he felt and the cold pain he felt in the soles of his feet … And at the same time strange; because it burned in both cases …

Out the door, around the corner … Quietly … There wasn't much natural light in the dungeons, and so, he couldn't see if there was any one in the stairwell, but moving cautiously, the blond was pretty sure that he didn't see any movement, which was a good sign. That meant that it was probably late, or early, enough that no one would be around. _Good; at least something could go my way … _he thought with some degree of relief as he walked, intent on heading into the bathroom for a little privacy.

"… Barty?"

Fuck.

Everything.

Seriously – right in the face.

The blond stopped dead in his tracks halfway to his destination and turned to face the person who had said his name, able to see only by the wand light that was suddenly blinding him up to the point that he needed to squint, raising a hand to block the bright blue-ish white glow that was staring him in the face.

"Reg, you're blinding me," he said, the uncomfortable squint evident in his tone as he addressed who he knew by the voice to be Regulus Black. The last person on _earth_ he needed to interact with right now.

"Huh; oh – sorry," the voice said, hastily lowering the wand and allowing the spots to appear before the blond's eyes along with a blurry version of his friend. Bartemius Crouch Junior was suddenly very glad for the fact that he tended to wear pajamas that were several sizes too big and extremely formless. Awkwardly, he tugged at the sleeve of said pajamas, waiting for the youngest son of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black to say something, because the longer he stood there looking everywhere except Regulus Black, the more he felt … It. He could feel his toes curling against the cold ground and he chose to focus on them mentally, tapping them lightly in a gesture of nervousness – or impatience; it could definitely be misinterpreted as impatience. Eventually it seemed as if Regulus realized that Barty was waiting for him to say something, which was why he was still standing there.

"I'm … surprised to see you up this late." _You have no idea_, Barty thought to himself, but rather than say it out loud, he just shrugged, not really answering. He really just wanted to Reg to go back to sleep behind them in the dorm room, or whatever it was he was doing that made it so the blond hadn't noticed him … He was nearly drumming his toes on the stair at this point, though he didn't notice, and it was difficult to see that since the legs of his pants fairly pooled around his feet.

"So—what are you—" Regulus started to ask, but Barty couldn't take it; it was going to be difficult to walk soon, and he did _not _want to have to deal with a case of blue balls. The irony of the fact that the person who _caused_ this problem in the first place was the obstacle he had to get past to rectify it was not lost on the frustrated teenager.

"Christ Reg; what are you, my mum? I woke up and had to take a piss – no big mystery here!" he barked the response in a sharper tone than he'd meant to, but he didn't care. Barty used the shock factor to fairly storm off, rough stone scraping the bottom of one of his feet as he stepped off of the rug that covered a lot of the floor in the Slytherin common room, irritably striking the bathroom door to open it and allowing it to swing shut behind him. He thought he might've heard Regulus say something behind him, but he didn't care – maybe if his fellow Slytherin thought he was mad at him he would leave Barty alone for a few minutes … Which wasn't exactly fair, because it wasn't like Regulus had actually _done_ anything, but he didn't want to think about that right now.

At this point, the blond was nearly in physical pain, and walking was no easy task – his original plan had been to torture himself and rinse off in some ice water before shivering his way back to bed and sleeping for the rest of forever but … Those concerned gray eyes … He bit his lip, and already he was turning on the shower water and turning the dial so that it would come out warm … And then hot …

_This is the last time I'm doing this,_ he mentally assured himself as usual, allowing the water to feel like something other than icy knives on the palm of his hand before withdrawing it. _That's it; I'm not doing this again … _

Glancing over his shoulder, he was a little nervous that someone might be around to hear him that he didn't really want to deal with the paranoia while he was taking care of his problem – it would just make things that much more difficult for him … After a few moments of waiting, he rationalized that Reg had probably gone back to bed, since he wasn't hearing anything, and everyone else was asleep, since it was so late ... Barty decided not to worry about it ultimately.

Undressing proved … Irritating, but it was only a few seconds before he had managed to step under the spray, and he couldn't helpe the pleased noise that escaped him as he closed his eyes.

The water was so hot that it nearly burned him … But it felt good at the same time – almost like there was someone there with him – another warm body. The breath that escaped the blond in almost a sigh was consumed by the sound of the water echoing through the room, and he didn't pay it much attention any way as his fingers slid over his own chest. The water made it easy for his hands to move against his skin, and the friction felt … Really good.

Leaning back against the wall, it was cool against his back, but he didn't notice much as his fingers wandered – and so did his mind. Pale skin – that much was easy. Bartemius Crouch Junior's skin was just about the color on his mind; the skin he imagined was more so though – smooth and cool to the touch … Until exposed to the right touch; his imagination told him then that it would be warm – almost hot … Squirming and pressed up against him … The blond's breath hitched a little as his fingers brushed across a nipple, pressing his temple against the wall of the shower, still under the spray of the water.

_Nnnngg_ … Reg was so _infuriating _sometimes .. He always wanted to help everyone – even if they didn't want it … Or he was getting in the way … One of the Slytherin's hands pressed against his lips to muffle the noise as a hand – his hand – slid down his hip and squeezed, which made him whimper quietly and tilt his head back as it moved lower …

"Ahhh …" the wavering noise escaped him before he could help it, and he felt the shiver down his entire body. _Nnnn ….Selfless idiot _... Gasping a little, his slick hand met no resistance as it moved, fingers shaking as he tried to keep himself as quiet as he could. He imagined his friend saying his name, in that concerned tone; and then changing it around a little in his head, fabricating a whimper in the paler Slytherin's voice. The pleasure it inspired was intense; it felt like an angry snake twisting below his stomach – it was so intense it almost made him feel sick. The arm, apparently not useful in it's original task of keeping the blond quiet, was moved to the wall, elbow bent and pressed against the cool tile so that he could press his forehead against the crook, forcing his eyes to remain closed.

Black.

An appropriate name for the Slytherin – his hair was just that color; he'd seen Regulus get out of the shower once or twice before by proxy of living in the same dormitory as him for the past six years… And fall in the lake once or twice too; those memories were easier to recall – that black hair, glistening in the sun … It would be the same if he was there right now, with the blond; his hand squeezed without his permission at the thought.

"Ah – R- …" he put his tongue; even if the name was going to be a whisper, he couldn't risk it. There were stranger things than ghosts in the castle … And many of those things had ears.

Trembling, he could barely stand up any longer, hand moving faster, hot and wet and slick in the shower water. Swallowing thickly, his lips parted, unable to keep the panting to himself because he needed to breathe more, lungs demanding more oxygen than these tiny breaths could offer. _Nnngg … Reg … Ah … … _he imagined himself saying it out loud; really saying the other's name – the slightly embarrassed sound he'd get in response – Regulus trying to hide his face, turn it away a little in that shy way he did things … Gently taking his face and turning it back … Stealing a glimpse of thick eyelashes that edged his deep, gray-blue eyes. Barty's breath caught in his throat and a strangled noise that almost turned into a keen escaped him, the sound harsh behind the heavy spray of the burning hot water that was surely branding his flesh an angry red.

"Ah … Reg …. … Reg …" he couldn't help it; the name escaped once, and then a second time … Before he was murmuring his friend's nickname like a prayer, pace picking up suddenly. He pressed his face so hard against the flesh of his arm that black and white spots started to appear behind his eyelids – but he didn't' care; in fact, he hardly noticed and he made strained little noises, as quietly as he could. It was so close; he thought he would never get there – but all he had to do was take a step forward … The blond's legs shook slightly, and he couldn't help slowly sliding down the wall so that he was kneeling on the floor instead of standing, a choked half-shout escaping him. In his mind's eye, he could see the other sixth year's face perfectly; he had had years of watching him to help him with this; Barty could imagine it – just a little flushed, overwhelmed, but excited, trusting …

It was something he couldn't forget …

Even if he tried; all he had to do was see Regulus' face; hear his voice … And it happened all over again; the teenager did it to Bartimeus Crouch Junior all over again …

"Regulu~~sssss …" the tone he used was both begging and whining; the loudest one he'd made so far, followed by what truly sounded like a sob; he could barely breathe after that, air heavy and damp, and getting stuck in his throat. His whole body was shaking now; hot and dizzy, he couldn't have sat up straight if he'd tried … In his mind's eye, Reg was _right there_ … In the foggy haze of his mind, he leaned forward, softly pressing a kiss to the paler teen's lips.

In actuality he was kissing the skin of the side of his wrist, but it was soft, firm skin, so it was easy to pretend.

In actuality he was muffling a scream against his arm and his hips rocked almost violently in time with his hand.

In actuality he was staining the wall in front of him white – if tile could be stained by the substance now coating it that is…

It took a while before Barty fell onto an arm with a wince, body shaking as he attempted to resist the urge to curl up on the ground under the hot water … As nice as that hot water was, and as good as he felt, he didn't want to risk someone coming in here and finding him … But maybe he could just lay there for a moment and, for lack of better term, bask … For the last time. Which is what he always told himself after this happened – and look how well that always went for him.

It didn't matter; as long as no one found out. His father and Regulus himself were really the only two that absolutely could_ not _know … And as far as he knew they never would.

In fact, he was so assured in his knowledge that no one would ever find out, he didn't hear the bathroom door as someone exited just before Barty got up to clean the wall of the shower and get out so he could go back to bed …

**FIN**

Inspired by the song **Morningside by Sara Bareilles** and the fic **"The Light of a Fading Star" by Seirios Aster**. (Go read it. Seriously; right now. Shoo.)


	2. Between the Lines

**Third installment in the series; sequel to ch.1 of Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man, Flushed from the Bathroom of Your Heart**

Between the Lines

"_Leave unsaid unspoken, eyes wide shut unopened … You and me, always be …You and me, always between the lines …_" ~Between the Lines by Sara Bareillesn

"Nnnnn…" Barty Crouch Jr. groaned in an expression of his void of amusement.

He could feel the headache coming on before he'd even managed to open his eyes. But then, it probably had something to do with the fact that he'd laid down with wet hair, and if you mixed that with the fact that he'd been unable to sleep when he'd gotten back to bed, you'd understand where the mild throbbing in his skull might stem from. He had eventually won the grueling war with his mind, because it seemed to think that because he had given in once and taken care of his … troubles … that he wouldn't be averse to creating those troubles all over again.

The end result was that he hadn't slept at all; however, he knew that it was getting to be time to get out of bed – the dim, almost dream-like light that filtered through the lake, as well as the stirrings of his bunkmates, told him that he should get up soon, or risk being in bed the entire day, and messing up his sleeping schedule was _not_ a wise decision in most cases. And as this was likely one of those cases, the blond sat up in bed, oversized pajamas once again halting his movement in the most infuriating of ways. Shoving his stringy blond hair out of his face, he eventually managed to win yet another battle with himself, this one in the form of sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed without sudden death ensuing.

So many battles won recently.

He just wished the war could be over already.

Glancing around the room, he realized without much concern that by now he was the only one that was there; all the other sixth year Slytherin were most likely in the Great Hall eating breakfast. Sighing, he stumbled over to his trunk, opening the top and patting around until he managed to find his robes. And, after attempting three times to get out of his pajama shirt and failing all three of said attempts, he decided fuck it. Instead of changing his clothes, he just pulled on the robes over what he already had on and yawned as he exited the dormitory.

The trek to the Great Hall was uneventful; there were a few students in the halls, but for the most part they were … Well, anywhere but the halls, and since it was Saturday and all, that made sense … Even if it looked like a cloudy day in itself and anyone who ventured outside was likely to become susceptible to a visit to Madame Pomfrey after they had become ill from being rained on… Shaking his head to try and clear it as he approached The Hall, he knew it wasn't going to work, but he needed food, and he needed to see if he would get any mail – it was unlikely, but possible. And if he got a letter from his mother, it was best to respond immediately.

_Well, might as well go in and get the fun times started_, he thought with a mental sigh as he pulled the door open and was suddenly assaulted by brighter light and so much noise he thought his head was going to explode. Reaching up, Barty Crouch Jr. put two fingers to his temples and sighed out loud this time, though the sound was drowned out by the dull roar that was par for the course in the Great Hall.

Eventually he moved forward, glancing upwards and seeing that the ceiling was full of gray storm clouds and it seemed to be forecasting a gentle rain, as the blond had done previously when looking out the windows he walked past, though there was no solid evidence that it was actually raining outside.

Cloudy, hazel eyes that were erring on the side of brown this morning swept across the Slytherin table, looking for someone that he knew – of course, being that Severus Snape had graduated last year, that really only left one candidate that he knew well enough that he would be comfortable eating with … And it didn't take long for him to find the pale teenager he was looking for.

Oh boy.

It looked like Reg was sulking by himself again.

There were at least three seats between him and anyone else at the table – though to be fair, there weren't many people at the Slytherin table, as he was sure that it was actually pretty late in the morning. It was hard to tell in the dungeons and now that it was cloudy exactly what time it was … Barty sighed; he would bet ten galleons to one that his friend was upset because he had barked at him the night before in the hallway. Reg was always doing that; assuming that he was doing something wrong, or that it was his fault that something happened, even if it had nothing to do with him … If it was bad and it happened to him or someone he cared about, it was Reg'swa fault and he should have changed it.

Pushing his hand through his hair, he rubbed his eyes and he could feel the bags under them; it was always easy to tell when he hadn't slept – it always looked like he had been punched in both eyes a couple days ago and the injuries were just starting to heal. But whatever; he needed to apologize to his friend for being a giant dick for no good reason before Regulus decided he needed to commit ritual suicide while Barty decapitated him to somehow restore honor to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, not that it would need it or anything as far as the Pureblood Wizarding Community was concerned …

Walking towards the end of the table where Regulus Black was sitting, without saying anything he just sat down next to his friend, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. Reaching out and picking up the plate of kippers, he helped himself to those and some sausages, glancing sideways at his best mate while he did so to gage his reaction to Barty's seating himself.

"Hey, uh, Reg?" he said after what he felt was a long silence, but in all actuality was not very much time at all. He just wanted to get this over with so that Regulus would stop feeling like he had killed all of the kittens in the universe by existing. "Listen mate; about last night – I'm sorry I sn—" And suddenly, the mail came. Which normally wasn't something to marvel over; a large mob of owls flying through the Great Hall dropping parcels and letters and newspapers and other such things that most muggles found in those boxes he'd learned about in Muggle Studies … male boxes. As opposed to female boxes? He wasn't sure why they had to be gendered … Muggles were just weird. Anyway, not that the mail coming made much difference to Barty, but it did make a good deal of noise, all those wings flapping and such, which was why Barty stopped in the middle of his sentence.

_Looks like nothing for me—_he thought with both relief and disappointment as the last stragglers flew past … That is until a red envelope fell neatly in front of him next to his plate. Blinking, at first there was non-comprehension on his face, and then it slowly clicked into place what exactly this envelope was, and he continued to stare at it in shocked disbelief …

"Oh … Bloody hell …" he muttered to himself; what in the hell could this _possibly_ be about? Waving the smoke coming off of the envelope away from his face, he wondered if he would have time to duck out of the Great Hall and open this in what was possibly the _slightly_ more secluded hallway ... But decided the likelihood of it exploding before he got anywhere useful and the fact that it would scream loud enough for the entire hall to hear it anyway were inevitable conclusions, so he might as well just open it and get it over with.

This was going to do _nothing_ good for his headache, which was slowly blossoming into a migraine.

"Stand by for howling," he said in warning to Regulus as he reached down and peeled open the seal so that it could scream whatever message it had for him and just get it over with. Re-arranging itself into a mouth, the red envelope hopped up off the table a moment later, presumably to get a better vantage point, or rather, so that it could be at least ear-level with Barty for the optimum migraine inducing noise expulsion. Joy.

"BARTEMIUS CROUCH JUNIOR! YOUR MOTHER AND I ARE EXTREMELY DISPLEASED! WHAT IS GOING _ON_ IN THATHEAD OF YOURS! YOUR POTIONS GRADES ARE ATROCIOUS; HOW DO YOU PLAN TO GET A JOB AT THE MINISTRY IF YOU CAN'T EVEN PASS YOUR CLASSES!"

Oh good; it's about potions. For a second Barty had actually been worried.

"LEARN SOME _RESPONSIBILITY_, BOY! I AM _NOT _GOING TO CARRY YOU THROUGH LIFE – JUST BECAUSE _I _WORK AT THE MINISTRY DOESN'T MEAN THAT I WILL LAY EVERYTHING OUT ON A SILVER PLATTER FOR YOU! YOU ARE TO OWL BACK _IMMEDIATELY_, OR SO HELP ME YOUNG MAN YOU WILL BE CONFINED TO THIS HOUSE FOR THE REST OF YOUR NATURAL BORN LIFE, AND YOU WILL DO NOTHING _BUT_ POTIONS!"

And with that, the envelope shredded itself into something akin to festive red confetti. All of the Slytherin at the table were sneering at him in that self-righteous way that they did, gleeful in the fact that someone else had gotten into trouble while they had remained scathe-free. _Bloody howlers; damned things should be banned on account of the public humiliation they cause,_ he thought as he lowered his eyes instead of glaring back; the light was starting to really make him squint. For far from the first time since he was sorted into this house, the blond sixth year decided that he hated all Slytherin, except Severus Snape, who'd graduated anyway, and Regulus Black. The former because while Snape had been tutoring him, he hadn't received even an angry letter from his parents about his potions marks – apparently Slughorn at some point had recently written home to express his concern that their son was terrible at the only subject the Professor thought had any importance. And the latter because he was the only person present at their green and silver table that didn't smirk at him in some twisted case of schadenfreude; at least if he was enjoying the blond's humiliation, he was decent enough not to express it openly. Which was of course why he was friends with Regulus in the first place – because he wasn't a barmy little prat like the rest of the students in their house.

The blond could feel that his face was red from his neck to his hairline, now that the entire hall knew that he was a stupid git that needed to be 'carried through life' as far as his parents were concerned because he was too much of a fuck up to bother actually deciding what _he_ wanted to do. It didn't help that he had a headache, and that it was throbbing in his temples so hard that he could honestly barely hear it when the dull roar surged back up in the hall, people seeming to forget quickly enough what had happened – even though the sixth year knew that they hadn't, and they wouldn't; not for a while at least. He would get sideways comments and haughty looks from his housemates, and probably from the other houses too – didn't matter if he hexed them from here until next Tuesday, they'd still look at him like they were better than him; smarter than him. 'There goes the Crouch kid; too stupid to even pass potions – and there's a Slytherin professor teaching the class!' … He could just imagine it.

Slumping in his seat slightly, he put a hand to his head, resting his elbow on the table, poking the food he'd taken, unsurprisingly not really that hungry any more. Now he just felt … tired … upset … frustrated … achy … All of these words described Bartemius Crouch Jr., and all of these words together spelled bad and worsening mood.

_Pffft; if he's that pissed off about my bloody potions grades – wonder what he'd say if he actually knew __**anything**__ about me_, he thought in a bitter tone, resisting the urge to shake his head, since that was likely to only make his headache worse. No no – his father, Mister Bartemius Crouch Senior had never even thrown a ball to his son, or tried to show him how a potion worked, or a broom – _anything_ really – he didn't know jack_shit_ about his son… And yet he had apparently decided that he knew everything there was to know about the blond sixth year Slytherin. Somewhere along the lines, his struggles with Potions, even though he _excelled_ quite spectacularly at transfiguration, if he did say so himself, (he had even gotten a compliment from a _Gryffindor_ Professor, McGonagall, to prove it), meant that he was lazy and irresponsible and stupid. And that he needed to have everything handed to him in life or he was never going to accomplish anything – and of course by anything, we're talking about attaining a job at the Ministry of Magic, as that was the be all and end all of all occupations and anyone who worked anywhere else was just a complete joke.

_Owl back immediately; my arse,_ he thought, almost viciously stabbing one of the sausages he'd put on his plate, though not moving to eat it, _and I know just how I'll start it too; Hullo pop – just finished buggering off and not doing any of my assignments today, as usual! Why you ask? Well, I developed one of those frequent headaches I get that you know all about because I tell you everything, and you always listen to everything I say and always care about my input when you're around to talk. Which is all the time, I know. Why did I get one of those, you ask? Oh that's easy; it's probably because I didn't get much sleep last night; had a good hard wank thinking about my best __**male**__ friend in the shower, and had a hard time getting to sleep after that, if you know what I mean._

Yup; that was perfect. Just needed to scrawl it out, sign it, and send the owl off.

He'd be disowned before supper.

Barty just wanted to scream; maybe throw something. Preferably at his father's _face_, but as that seemed most unlikely, he would settle for across the room or something. Maybe at some obnoxious happy Hufflepuff firsty's face. That would probably only get him into trouble, lose their house points, and score him a detention. So he could get yet _another_ howler from his father; funny, that was the only time he ever seemed to take out of his busy schedule where Barty was concerned – when he was convinced that Barty had been wrong and needed to be screamed at. Because a good earful is exactly what most troubled kids need in order to get them to straighten out, right?

He realized that he had been holding the sausage on his fork for probably a whole minute without doing anything, just letting it hang in the air without really moving it at all, grip so loose he was nearly dropping the fork he was holding, and that got him to blink. Murky hazel eyes were disoriented, and he could honestly at this point barely hear much of anything over the throb in his temples – however, he had the vague suspicion that Regulus was trying to talk to him … The only problem was he couldn't be entirely sure. Putting down the fork he was holding with the skewered sausage, he blinked again and seemed to realize that if he thought his friend was talking to him, he should probably make some sort of effort to acknowledge him, because if he didn't, Reg would likely decide that once again all of the sunshine and rainbows in the universe had committed suicide on account of him, and that only his solitary suicide would rectify the situation.

"Huh?" he asked sort of stupidly; not his fault though – it was hard to think when your head was in a drum and someone was banging on it like their life depended on it. Merlin it was hard to even focus on Reg's face, let alone figure out if he was actually speaking, and if he was what in blazes he was saying. Maybe he should go see Madame Opium, as Snape had deemed her once, and see if she would take pity on him again and give him a painkilling draught of some kind. Fuck, if he was any good at potions he would go to the potions classroom and brew himself up something nice and strong …

It was honestly far more likely that he'd be able to produce something that didn't explode and actually served the purpose he intended it to than Madame Pomfrey actually giving him more medication though; this was the third time this week he would have gone to her, and the last time she had told him that if he came back again any time soon, she was going to have to insist he allow her to test a few things to figure out where these headaches were coming from. Barty didn't need it getting back to his parents that he was in want of regular medications – somehow that would turn into him being a drug addict, or some other bollocks …

Yeah; attempting to hear and interpret what his friend was saying, if he was saying anything at all, (he was still having trouble discerning actual sounds from the white noise that was filtering through his brain), was not really getting him anywhere.

Shame.

He really liked Reg's voice.

"Uh, Reg?" he said after a moment, tone a little unsteady, not looking straight at the paler teenager, "sorry – I need to go write my parents, or they're gonna be all over me. Might even send me another bloody howler tomorrow if I don't get back to them today." Getting up from his seat, food and drink he'd collected for himself in the spot next to Regulus completely untouched, he pushed his chair in and paused long enough to give Reg a reassuring smile. He was attempting to convince him that he wasn't mad at him or anything, and he wasn't sure if it was working – but he did realize after standing there for a good long moment that he was staring off into space. While staring at Regulus' face. And now that his thoughts had started to rhyme, he knew it was about that time … … To get back to bed and … Hide his head …?

"I'll see you around, alright?" was all he said after he had been looking at Regulus for far longer than was strictly proper, turning to leave the Great Hall and hoping against hope that getting away from all of the noise and bright lights of the room would at least alleviate some of the pounding pressure in his skull even the tiniest little bit … Dull, brown-green eyes swept the floor as he walked towards the doors leading out of the giant room he was in, trying to be sure that he didn't trip over anything during his departure. He noticed a dull crack of thunder in the background, though whether that was from the enchanted ceiling, the actual weather outside, or both, was anyone's guess as far as Barty was concerned …

**The End …?**


	3. Love on the Rocks

Your wish is my command, Seirios … xD One letter to BC Sr., the asshat, coming right up xD And, I have noticed that I keep finding Sara Bareilles songs that work well for my titles – so I just keep using them …

**Third installment in the series; sequel to ch.2 of Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man, Blue in Green**. **Go read that first.** Or don't. Whatever you want really. xD

**As a warning**; this chapter's kinda gross xD There are several unpleasant scenes including piss, vomit, saliva, blood … Just saying.

Love on the Rocks

"_Hot as hell, cold as ice – sip it slow 'cause it's so nice … Dulls my senses, drives my pain; but I do it again … Burns a bit to the touch, dangerous if it's too much … If this bottle could talk …_" ~Love on the Rocks by Sara Bareilles

.

_The view in here is beautiful as well!_ What in the buggering _fuck_ was wrong with him? The only reason that Barty Crouch Jr. didn't bash his face into the wall for his stupidity was the fact that it already felt like he had done that for a few hours previous to his friend's arrival –

"I suppose," Reg said before falling over and cursing. Also, Regulus seemed to completely miss the implications that the blond had just laid out in front of him, which was another perfect reason to not self-flagellate while his fellow sixth year Slytherin was in the room. Excellent. He had forgotten that one thing he could usually count on from the youngest Black was obliviousness to the point of near mental deficiency… "I mean, yeah – the lake's pretty and all, but on the surface … I dunno. I guess I just like the bright green of the grass against the grey sky." Yes; that was one of the blond's favorite colors, actually – again entirely Regulus' fault of course, but … His best mate's eyes were striking normally, a slightly cloudy, pale blue more often than not but … When he was being serious – really, deep-in-thought serious… They darkened, almost hardened slightly, to a perfect, storm-cloud grey …

"Right. Merlin, maybe I should take some of those damned pills," he said, shaking his head slightly and nearly punching himself, once again ecstatic that Regulus was not any sort of a mind-reader. His head hurt too much to do anything so far as concentrating for occlumency; not that his friend knew that Barty had read up on that subject a little bit in his paranoid delusion that someday Regulus might try to figure out what was on the blond's mind for real … "They should knock me out, right?"

"Yeah; they should – I mean, they knock me right out, but I tend to say ridiculous shit as they're kicking in." Barty couldn't help the muffled snort that escaped him as he pressed his face against the pillow; that was the understatement of the year. Cats and ferrets and tea parties and broken French … Reg talked about the _weirdest _shit when he was drugged sometimes …

"You need any water or anything?"

Barty nearly jumped a mile off the bed, turning to face Reg without meaning to – Merlin, when did he get so close? He was across the buggering _room _the last time the blond had seen him. And then he remembered the reason that he had been avoiding looking at Regulus in the first place; he had been thinking about staring at his best mate's _eyes_ for a non-descript amount of time – falling into them, really … Which had made his face more than slightly pink because Reg was standing _right there_ …

"I know you didn't have anything for breakfast, and I could go get you something from the kitchens." Evidently the blush that was staining what felt like his entire _face_ was going to go unnoticed too – this was just painful … Wonderful, but painful. No wonder he'd kept his feelings from his friend for so long, even given the amount of time he spent around the dark haired Slytherin – he was so bloody oblivious that even Barty candidly confessing his feelings would probably make him ask for clarification …

"I, uh, I'm fine," Barty managed, keeping his gaze trained away from the other Slytherin's. "I've a glass of water. Should be enough for the pills." Which was true – but he was used to taking these little things often enough that honestly, he probably didn't even really need the liquid to help it along.

_One pill makes you larger … And one pill makes you small …_ he absently smiled a little to himself when the melody started up in his head as he was left alone and Reg flicked the lights out, pill bottle in hand. He could barely see it in the almost misty light that washed the dormitory after he crawled under the blankets, but it was enough that he could eventually pop the cap off and shake out a few pills into his hand. Looking at them for a long moment after putting the bottle on his nightstand, he glanced at the aforementioned glass of water, which had been there since yesterday, and decided that he'd rather just swallow them as they were.

He had honestly forgotten that Regulus kept a bottle of what was essentially muggle medicine mixed in with his socks in case he sustained a Quidditch injury and decided that he wasn't going to the infirmary, or Poppy wasn't giving him enough by way of a painkiller … Or at least, that was what he'd told Barty. And true, there were some times that he didn't want to be arsed to get himself from the field to the med witch when the dormitory was closer, especially when the other team's beater was fucking off, but … The blond had the sneaking suspicion that he kept them there at least in part for when Barty's brain was attempting to split in two because it had missed the memo that he was a human, and so needed to undergo _sexual _reproduction, not budding … And let's not get on the subject of when his brain remembered the fact that sexual reproduction was a thing …

However, when his headache turned into a migraine, and that migraine was bad enough that he was laying face down on his bed, head turned just enough so he could avoid suffocation, he rarely felt the initiative to drag his sorry arse down to the infirmary for something strong enough to knock him on said sorry arse … Seemed like Reg was always there offering the bottle and some water to him, sometimes outright coaxing him into taking them if it got bad enough he could barely _see_, which had happened before, though rarely … He didn't even know where Reg got them from, really – he'd never bothered asking.

Laying down, he realized hazily that he wasn't sure exactly how many pills he'd taken … Hmmm … … He also couldn't really remember if he was supposed to take two or four, so perhaps that evened things out in some way? He was also reasonably certain he was really not supposed to take these on an empty stomach … Whatever; he was tired – muggle medicine confused him more often than not, and he didn't really care to learn about it … Or male boxes … or anything else muggle-ish … Mostly because he had a headache, so he didn't care about much right now.

_And if you go … chasing rabbits … you know you're … going to fall …_

It was likely several hours later before Bartemius Crouch Jr. woke, but he honestly had no idea. The good news was that his headache was completely gone – excellent. The bad news was that not only did it feel like his stomach was eating itself, but it felt like it also wanted to expel anything from it that was living there in the first place. Not excellent. Gagging slightly as he tried to roll over, he groaned – he felt like complete _shite_, barring the fact that his head was no longer pounding, which was, as previously mentioned, excellent.

"Fu~ck …" he groaned again before something between a hiccup and a gag caused him to close his mouth; he was sure he hadn't eaten anything that day, but that didn't mean he couldn't get rid of _something_ – somehow he was sure his body would find a way, even if it had to _produce_ the stuff he was throwing up.

Alright; that was pretty gross.

Subject change in 3 … 2 … 1 …

Barty needed to pee.

Yeah; not a whole lot less gross, but at least it was something. Also confusing, as he hadn't had anything to drink that day, but then, he always had to pee right after waking up, regardless ... However, that now left the trouble of him actually _getting to_ the washroom without losing … Well, whatever it was he had in him to lose at the moment. A heavy sigh escaped him, but he managed to get himself out of bed after a very long and tedious argument with the sheets – he really needed pajamas that fit him better, or a bed that wasn't so clingy. Unsteadily he reached up and grabbed the bedpost so he didn't fall over, attempting to focus his eyes so that he only had one pair of feet. _Yup … probably was only supposed to take those pills after eating …_ he thought to himself as he started across the room, body shaking a little, though he wasn't sure if it was because he was cold, or because he was going to fall over and die, or because of some other unknown circumstance … Or some weird combination of all of those things.

The trek to the bathroom was a lot less eventful than it had been the night before – he didn't run into anything or anyone, and he was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other and climbing the stairs without going for a dive off of them, that he didn't really have room for much deep thought. Making it to where he was going, he was quite certain that if he tried to stand up, the best case scenario would be him bashing his face against the wall in an attempt to stay upright – and the worst was all around unpleasant so he didn't consider it for more than a moment before going into a stall and awkwardly sitting down on a toilet to go instead. He remained sitting after he'd flushed it though, setting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands; it was cold in the bathroom, which actually made his stomach feel a little bit better – maybe he'd just stay there for a while.

"-ut how did you get it though!" suddenly door was being pushed open pretty hard as two Slytherin males, probably seventh years by the sounds of it, came in, talking in hushed voices. Barty honestly couldn't have given a fuck less – he just wanted the world to stop moving even after he'd closed his eyes.

"I'm just a genius s'all," another voice sneered, and the blond was in no condition to try and figure out who it was or what they'd said. They didn't seem to notice there was anyone else in the room with them however, though to be fair Barty was encased in a stall at the moment, so they likely didn't see any evidence of someone else being there. They did what they'd come to do, namely take a leak, before he heard one say conspiratorially to the other,

"Yeah, but _firewhiskey_? A whole _bottle_? We can't have that stuff in the castl—"

"Shut up you idjit! D'you want the world to know what I've got under m'bed?" the second voice hissed, interrupting the first, who sheepishly apologized, though there wasn't much urgency in the tone – it was likely they were just paranoid that there were ears in the walls, or the walls had ears, or however you said that.

He was going to puke.

"… Right … Anyway; dinner time so we may as well get down there," the first voice said after the water from the faucets went off; he didn't get a response, but Barty heard the door open and close – not that it mattered much to him, but the thought of dinner made him twice as nauseous as he had been a moment ago…

The sounds of retching were likely not heard in the common room, but the blond was more concerned with the raw feeling his throat was slowly developing as whatever he was expunging burned the entire way up, and the entire way back down if he didn't get it all up in one contraction. It was a good few minutes before his body left him in peace, shaking, coughing, and gasping a little with one hand on the toilet seat, which, since he had previously been sitting on it, was not at all cool against his overheated face. God he hated it when he threw up ... Not that anyone _would_ like it, he supposed, unless they were out of their tree, but …

Dragging himself off the floor a bit later, he leaned over the sink and splashed his face without much accuracy, getting his robes wet too, before gargling water and spitting to try and devise his mouth of the taste of bile. He stayed where he was for a moment, and was grateful that at least he _felt_ a little better … And by felt a little better he meant he could probably walk straight now. Maybe possibly. And then, a thought occurred to him after he let out another breath; someone had smuggled Firewhiskey back from Hogsmeade … Someone in _Slytherin_ … the entire house being presumably at the Great Hall eating dinner … … Hmmm …

Ten minutes later he was exiting the Slytherin common room, bottle of alcohol tucked under his arm inside his robes, carefully making his way up the stairs – you didn't think he was dumb enough to be on the piss with pilfered booze ten steps away from where he'd stolen it from, did you?

Let it never be said that Bartemius Crouch Jr. was in Slytherin for no reason.

And besides; he was sure he needed it more than whatever seventh year wanted to get some girl drunk and have a good shag behind the curtains in an empty classroom … Hell, taking it was Barty doing his _civic duty_ as a student – if he took it then they wouldn't be out of the common room after hours, and there wouldn't be any pregnancy scares in Slytehrin. He was _helping_ his fellow house mates – and wasn't that what it was all about …? Well, actually no, it was about Barty getting completely sloshed, but whatever.

He eventually found himself in the staircase leading to the owlery, which was about as far away from the dungeons you could get … However it was far too ruddy cold in with the owls at this time of year, especially since the front of his robes were still damp from the erratic splashing he'd done in the bathroom – but luckily, since Hogwarts tended to think of everything, there was a room or two built into the tower, so that they had a slightly irregular shape, for the purpose of writing letters before you sent them off. Ducking into one of the few doors leading off of the winding stairs, he was pleased to find that it was warmer in there than it was in the hall, simply because there was only one small window and it in fact _did_ have glass in it. This didn't keep Barty from shivering, but sitting down at the table in the middle of the room, he would be warm soon enough.

Maybe he _would_ write that letter to his parents – at least then he'd have a reason to be up here. There were some scraps of parchment hanging around, as well as an inkwell and a rather sad looking quill after some more digging. Sighing and rolling up his sleeves, he left the bottle unopened, sitting on the table next to him; he was already feeling like he should just return it to where he'd found it like he'd never gotten it – not so much because he felt bad he'd stolen it; more so because if anyone ever found out that he'd taken it, he'd be in for some hurt …

Sighing, he started scrawling out a response to that awful howler he'd gotten earlier –

_Morning,_

_I got your letter today at breakfast. I'm s*_–

_Fucking inkblot._

Barty, annoyed at his own handwriting, had felt compelled to write in that last part, though that meant that he'd have to tear off more of the parchment than he otherwise would have before so he could start over again. Sending letters to his parents with poor penmanship was something that usually warranted, not a howler, but at the very least a displeased comment or two in the response letter. Something that Barty wasn't sure he could take many more of. Right; let's try this again.

_Morning Sir,_

_I received your letter at breakfast_ …

Startling awake, blond hair flew back and forth across his face as he gasped, heartbeat accelerating quickly as he searched for the source of his sudden wakefulness. Disoriented for a long while, Barty eventually calmed his breathing, remembering where he was and what he had been doing before he had at some point drifted off again. Looking around he took a breath, letting it out and glancing out the window as best he could to try and figure out what time it was. As far as he could see it was pitch black out there, which meant he'd slept for a few more _hours_, and it was probably past curfew, so he was going to get in trouble for being out of the dungeons.

_Great,_ he thought to himself with a small shiver, _just fucking __**great**_ … Leaning back in his chair and wincing because he had a stiff neck, he realized he felt something on his face. Reaching up, realized that the letter he'd been writing had managed to stick itself to his face. Peeling it off, which was actually a little painful, he realized it had been adhered to his skin with spit, courtesy of the fact he had probably been sleeping with his mouth open again, and so, had drooled all over it. Of course that meant that whatever his response letter had said, and believe you me he had no _idea _what he had written, it was ruined now, so it didn't matter.

"Fuck," he moaned, throwing the smeared parchment and leaning back in his chair, putting his hands on his face and likely smudging the ink that was left all over his cheek. Sighing heavily, he eventually allowed his arms to drop to either side of himself, at the moment at a loss for what to do until his eyes landed on the bottle he'd set down earlier and had, in all likelihood, forgotten about. _Why not?_ He thought in a tired tone of voice as he reached for it, fingers painfully tight because of the temperature of the room he was in, _got nothing better to do_ …_ At the very least it'll take the chill off_. _It's bloody freezing in here_ …

Taking the top off of the bottle he'd nicked, he took a drink straight from the neck before nearly slamming it down. Holy _shite_ that burned all the way down his throat, and into his otherwise empty stomach. However, true to form, the alcohol did as Barty anticipated and after another nip he wasn't shivering as much. To be fair, he had only had butter beer for the most part on the occasional trips to Hogsmeade, and his father didn't keep alcohol in the house – excessive drinking had killed his cousin or some such. However, the blond knew that on a few occasions his mother invited her friends over and so, she kept a bottle of Red-Currant Rum in the back of the pantry underneath a stack of cans so that his father wouldn't see it. He didn't blame the woman; she probably needed a stiff drink now and again – though with the amount of time his father ever spent looking at _anything_ in the house, it would surprise the teen if Bartemius Crouch Sr. would notice a bottle if it was left in front of him on the breakfast table. Every _once_ in a while Barty had been known to take just a little from said bottle, after it had been opened and before it was down to less than half, to make sure no one noticed that it contained less than the last time it was used. The last thing he needed was for his mother to know about _that_ …

Another long swig or so later, and he did have to admit that he felt _much _better than he had previous to climbing all the way up the damned west tower and trying to write that fucking letter; he wasn't cold any more, which was a huge plus as far as he was concerned, and he felt really comfortable despite the tower and lack of a fireplace in the small room he was in. Glancing around, he stared out the window for a long time; the rain appeared to have stopped – or else he just couldn't see it, but either way it didn't much matter to him, he guessed … Mind wandering, he was having a hard time tracking exactly where it was going exactly; the sky earlier had been gray – his favorite color, like stormclouds ... That got him to Regulus after not too long, and well … _That_ got him to drinking some more of the burning liquid, because _that_ was part of the reason why he was in this mess in the first place. Not that he could remember what the mess was, or anything, but he was sure he was in some sort of mess and that Regulus had _something _to do with it, since Regulus often had something to do with his troubles when he was being self-deprecating …

After a while he looked at the bottle in his hand, which was about a quarter of the way gone, and it occurred to him that it would probably be best to drink as much of it as he possibly could, so he could dispose of the remains and claim he'd never seen it if asked. It was only … … Glancing at the bottle in the dim light of his wand after casting what was for some reason an extremely difficult _Lumos_, it took more than a few seconds to read the numbers written across the bottom. The label read ".75L"; he knew that meant thee quarters of a liter because he wasn't a complete git, but he wasn't exactly sure what that all meant as far as a point of reference for how much he could drink… Didn't look like a very big bottle though, so he could probably handle it, not that he was a seasoned alcoholic or anything ... (1)

Hazel eyes blinked a few times, disoriented, before glancing at the desk and seeing the rest of the parchment scraps he had scrounged up, the broken quill, and the nearly dry inkwell … _Fucking sod …_ he thought drunkenly to himself as he took another long drink out of the bottle and nearly choked, coughing a little bit as he hit his own chest to make it go down easier. Setting the bottle down heavily onto the wood, he leaned forward, taking altogether too long to pick up his quill because the buggering thing kept _moving_ on him. But eventually he got it, and, wand still lit and laying on the desk next to him so he could see, he managed to get some ink on the quill, and probably his fingers too, though it wasn't like he could notice in this state. _I've got your immediate response, you arsehole … _he thought crossly before shaking his head slightly, attempting to clear it a little so he could write. Gone was the meticulous scrawl his letters, reports, and notes were always scribed in as he started to draft a new letter to his father in response to that thoughtful howler he'd received earlier …

'_lo Old Man __Gaffer__,_

_Buggered off mywhole day today; did fuck-all 'cept sleep. Shit sleep too; got one of those headaches – you know the type. Or you don't; because you don't know shit, you stupid sod._

_S'alright though; I'm a right proper boozer now – nicked me some whiskey an'everything. Wouldn't you just feel a shit if I died from drinking ust like your brothr … Bother … … brither … Bugger._

_I know my potion grades're all a cock … That git .. Snp … snrp … Snake … graduated ands all to hell here. Can't focus on shit when Reg tries t'show me. Ain't like we arse 'round or nothing. Bod's real good at potions anthe like. His bod's real good. D'you even know I had a friend? No; I'd guess not. Prick._

_I get headaches from not sleeping, not that you would know. Git. Didn't get much o that done last night eif… neither though. Had a good hard wank though thinking about fucking that friend I said I have. Or him fucking me; don't relly rember, but I'd take it either way. Been after his fit arse for years; should count it lucky that, like you, he can't be arsed to care. Or's too dumb to. You wrinkled old codger._

_Fuck you._

_Go ahead and lock me up in the house with darbies you Pennyboy._

_Least I'd never see you._

_Barty._

_Not Bastard Cunt Jr. … ... BARTY._(2)

By the time he'd finished writing in script that was legible, if not slurred and blotted in some places, and smudged around the edges a little too, most of that firewhisky was gone, and he felt so much more … Free … than he had before he'd written it. Took him a good few minutes to roll up the parchment he'd written on into some semblance of a scroll to attach to an owl, and with that he was ready to send his response on its way. However, upon standing up he knocked over his chair.

"Bloody … fuck …" he muttered with another slur, making several swipes at it to try and set it up before just waving a hand in disgust and leaving it where it had fallen. Managing to get the wand he'd left on the desk, he also picked up the bottle of alcohol, holding it up to his ear to see if there was anything left in it, and nearly smacking himself in the head with it when he shook it around. There were a few good mouthfuls left in it, but he wasn't really thirsty any more … No sense in wasting perfectly good booze. He turned, bottle in what was once a free hand, stumbling towards the door, effectively forgetting what it was he was doing previously, but deciding that it was probably about time for him to get back to the common room anyway…

The higher being was the only one who knew what benevolent force was looking out for him on his way back to the dungeons; he needed to go nearly across the castle to get to the entrance of the common room, which entailed going down at least two stationary sets of stairs and waiting for several more to move without plummeting to his death … Something must've had Argus Filch's attention that night, and something even _better_ must've been keeping Mrs. Norris, because there was no other way for him to have achieved what should have been completely impossible … Especially having fallen down one of those flights of stairs. But somehow, some way, he managed to get back to the wall that lead to the common room, wand and alcohol in hand, even though he was now bleeding from the head where he'd incurred a rather impressive gash that he couldn't actually feel. Leaning against the wall so that his mouth was nearly touching the cold stone, though Barty didn't realize it was cold, he smeared the blood from his injured temple across it for a while as he thought aloud drunkenly, saying several things that could've been the magic word, and quite a few that couldn't, before he managed to come up with the right thing.

"Sss … Sss-srrr … Blo'dy … .. SssSerpent …" the blond managed to slur out, though those 'S's were killers when your tongue felt like it was two sizes too big for your mouth … Still holding his wand, the wall opened after what almost seemed like a moment of deliberation and Barty nearly fell on his face – which was good because he might've hit said face on the ceiling if he had tried to just walk straight in to the short, low-ceilinged passage that went from the hall to the common room.

There appeared to be no one in the common room as far as he could tell, not that he was looking – stumbling a little bit, his eyes lit on the fireplace. He wasn't cold, but he liked the fireplace, and he was reasonably confident that he was _sick_ of stairs; he'd almost thrown up twice in the way because of their obnoxious moving from place to place. Nearly falling face first _into_ the fire, he pitched forward and managed to land on his arse next to it, far too close for comfort. An ember would have no trouble at all jumping out of the fireplace and onto his very flammable robes, not that it was much better than embers at this point anyway … But he wasn't thinking about that…

There was something in his hand.

What the hell …? No; no … That was just his wand. Right. He had picked that up. Absently, he set the wand down, fingers still full of ink from that inkwell he had nearly shoved them into in order to get ink on his quill.

Quill …?

Oh wait; yeah – there was that letter he needed to send his father – it had been _under _the wand. Stupid thing was trying to hide. _Why; so I can get a fucking howler again? Fuck you too – damned thing… _he thought crossly as he threw it at the fire, or at least what was left of it. However, it bounced off of the embers of a log someone had put on hours earlier, skidded back over the ashes, and rolled onto the floor next to Barty's wand. The force made the blond slump over, fingers of his other hand still clutching the forgotten alcohol bottle, and he slowly slid into a more horizontal position, letting out a very slow breath. In fact, most of his breaths were very slow now – his breathing in general was slow.

"Bas'rd …" he muttered at the rolled up parchment, though he didn't really make a move to do anything about it's insolence of the non-burning variety. He was pretty tired, actually, after that walk. Hazel eyes started to close, and he realized he felt something running across his nose. Well _that_ was annoying. Reaching up with all the accuracy of, well, a drunk, he beaned himself soundly in the face, managing to wipe away what he failed to identify as blood, which was still steadily streaming over his skin before his hand fell down, sleeve of his robe partially hiding his face …

**The End …?**

Sorry this one was so long; I just kept going on and on and on … Poor Barty; he's so drunk he doesn't realize he's probably going to die of hypothermia – I mean, that tower wasn't exactly _insulated _or anything …

Footnotes:

1 – I have to put a disclaimer here that I did do some research; assuming that Barty has a normal tolerance for alcohol and weighs between 160-170lbs, this amount of alcohol within an hour or so will _kill_ him. It could however give him alcohol poisoning if he drinks most of it. It would take at least 690mL (.69L) to kill him …

2 – I would like to apologize to any British person reading this for all of the stereotypical slang, and any other person in the world reading this who has no idea what half of this shit means. I would also like to apologize to myself for not actually looking any of this up xD On another note, any spelling/grammar/punctuation errors you see here were entirely on purpose. Or at least pretend they are if I've missed any really bad ones.


	4. Bottle it Up

******Third installment in the series; sequel to ch.3 of Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man, Play With Fire.**

Bottle it Up

"_I don't claim to know much, except 'soon as you start, to make room for the parts that aren't you, it gets harder to bloom in a garden of love … love, love, love…_" ~Bottle it Up by Sara Bareilles.

. .

His hazel-eyes were hazy; he had yet to actually truly pass out cold, but he heard Regulus talking, almost as if through a fog … The blond _might_ have responded to what the youngest Black son was saying, but then again, he might not have … Hard to tell; this sudden thick storm was clouding up his judgment substantially. He couldn't even really remember his _name_, let alone what had happened a minute previous –

"_Sobrius_." A flash of what looked like fire, and then, suddenly, complete clarity. Well, at least, his mind wasn't all muddied up from whatever was making it feel like he was walking up to his armpits in muck trying to get from one thought to another anyway. Reaching up, he put a hand to his forehead; damn – what the fuck had happened? Barty had no idea, which was probably not a great sign, but _damn_ did his head hurt … In an external kind of way; not a headache-y kind of way.

"Eugh," he murmured, throat feeling burned and raw, which made it horribly difficult to do that thing called speaking. "Why do I feel like I ate a Brillo pad and washed it down with vomit?" It was probably the most eloquent thing he'd said in a while, but it still made him mentally wince as he said it; super smooth thing to say, huh? Shivering as he realized he was absolutely _freezing_, Barty touched his face, breathed on his hand slightly and sniffed, trying to figure out if he had actually thrown up or something, because if that was the case he probably needed to clean off Reg's shoes or something—

"You drank a bottle of firewhisky." The answer was quiet, almost as if his mate was saying it under his breath for some reason. Blinking, Barty forgot entirely about his lack of body temperature, or the fact that his head felt like it was being cleaved in two the proper way this time – from the outside in. He knew that tone; and that trained down gaze that said he wasn't meeting Barty's eyes without some fancy talking … _Fuck_, he thought to himself.

"Reg, what's wrong?" he asked, knowing immediately that Regulus would of course deny anything that might have been some semblance of wrong, but it didn't matter. The fact that he was so trained away from Barty told him that the blond had done something to upset Regulus, or Regulus had done something that he thought would upset Barty, and of course, he couldn't _remember_ anything from the past … He had no idea, how long, actually.

"Nothing." Pfft; yeah. That answer was the most convincing thing he'd ever heard in his life. Coupled with the way Reg was attempting to gnaw a hole through is bottom lip – yeah, right. Reg definitely was convinced something he'd done – hell, something he'd _thought_ was going to upset Barty, or make him angry or, he didn't know, make him _blink_ sideways for pity's sake. Reg was _always_ doing this. Sighing heavily, he managed to drag himself out from under the quilt, managing to move over to the brunet so that he was next to him and ignoring the erratic shaking that his body was doing to try to indicate that he was cold. Blue lips were trying to do the same thing, but of course he couldn't exactly _see _those.

"Reg," he said, sitting next to him, but not exactly touching him, knowing not to crowd him at the moment, though he knew staying away was the worst thing he could have done right then, "you don't look like nothing's wrong." Watching his face carefully, he could see those dark, gray-blue eyes brooding underneath his thick, dark eyelashes, and they were only getting darker as time went on – meant he was thinking very hard about something, and he wasn't telling Barty what was wrong, so he was only digging himself deeper into his own depression.

"Regulus. What's wrong?" Barty asked a little bit more fervently, voice tense, and quiet so that he didn't wake up anyone else in their dormitory. He needed to get Reg to respond – to _answer_ him, or he was going to work himself into a bad one, the blond could tell. He didn't want a repeat of when his brother had gone to stay with that friend of his; he had honestly thought Regulus wasn't going to make it. It had scared him; a _lot_. He wasn't going to let the teen go through something like that again. But Reg wasn't saying anything – wasn't answering him; it was starting to make the blond very nervous.

"I swear, if you—" honestly, Barty had no idea what in the fuck he had planned on saying; it didn't matter. All thoughts were suddenly gone from his head, hazel-green eyes widening slightly in shock, unsure of how to handle what exactly was happening … Mostly because his brain was finding itself all but unable to wrap around the simple fact of the matter –

Regulus was _kissing_ him.

Him.

Bartemius Crouch Jr.

Either he had entered bizzaro-world, this was another dream, or something was _extremely_ wrong.

There was a moment, a long, grueling, most likely seconds-long moment, in which his brain made a very powerful argument. _If this is a dream, then who cares what happens? If this is reality, then who cares why he's doing it – it's not like you used an Imperius on him or anything; this is entirely his doing …_ and Barty, for a moment, was inclined to agree with it, because technically, it was true. He didn't know what in the everliving _fuck_ was going on, but it wasn't like he was forcing Regulus to do anything – for some reason, he was doing this of entirely his own volition. But that was just it; it was 'for some reason'. Barty needed to know what the reason was.

Forcing himself – and let me tell you, it was the worst struggle he'd ever gone through in his _life_ – to move, he reached up, shaky hands grasping the dark haired teens arms just below his shoulders before squeezing lightly and attempting to pull his best mate off of him.

Nothing doing; Regulus made a noise, something akin to a protest, and the blond felt the other's arms snake around the back of his neck, as if he didn't want to be pulled away. _Oh god,_ was the only thought that occurred to the only son of the Crouch family, breathing a little short suddenly as he tried to do everything except relax a little – he knew if he allowed himself to enjoy this, even just for a moment, to think about how soft Reg's lips were against his, or how warm his body felt … He would have already lost the battle he was fighting.

"Reg," he attempted to say against his lips – god, his _lips_ – as he continued to valiantly struggle to get the other Slytherin _off_ of him. Hazel eyes closes as he veritably squirmed a little, attempting to break the kiss and eventually, after what felt like forever and a half, managing to turn his head to the side. By this point oxygen had been a luxury, and so, his breath came in short little pants as he kept his face turned down and to one side, so that Reg couldn't do _that_ again … At least not until he got some answers.

"R … Regulus …?" he managed through his pants; his hands were still on Regulus' arms, though it was more like he was clinging to his friend at this point, instead of trying to hold the dark haired teen away. Eventually, he managed to get his breathing under control to a degree, failing to notice that Reg's patterns of air intake matched his own. "… th-the hell … mate ...?"

And once again, the youngest son of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black refused to look at the blond in the eye – which meant one of two things. Either he thought Barty was angry at him, which the blond was guessing at this point was the case, or … Something else. He wasn't sure what the something else could be at this point, but cut him some slack – he had just been snogged by his best mate, whom he'd had a crush on for going on probably three or four years now. Possibly longer; that had just been when his hormones had realized what a crush was and how to identify one.

"Reg; mate … You've gotta explain …" he started; if his best guess was that Reg thought Barty was mad at him, then he had to reassure the teen that he wasn't – otherwise he wasn't going to get anything out of Regulus except dodged glances and mutters. However, he was still having a bit of a hard time thinking; he wasn't allowing himself to reflect on the earlier action bestowed upon him just yet, but he couldn't help the quiet 'wow' that his mind kept offering up as almost a peace offering. "… What was that all about?"

Nope; carefully neutral, if placating tone wasn't doing it. Reg was still trying to avoid looking at the blond, which meant that even though he knew Barty wasn't mad at him, whatever was bothering him was still bothering him. Well … if he wasn't worried that Barty was upset with him, then the only other thing, like a little kid, was that Reg felt like he had done something wrong … However, if Barty wasn't mad at him, then he would know that Barty wasn't judging him as far as 'two guys kissing is wrong', so … That meant that …

"Reg – come on," he pleaded, stomach slowly dropping, like a bungee jump with the speed turned waaaaay down, "tell me what happened." He was trying not to panic, but come on – it was literally his _best_ kept secret. He had never uttered anything to a _soul_ – had never even said the words 'Regulus Black' and 'Love' in the same sentence before, he was pretty damned sure … He had said something hadn't he? While he was drunk – that had to be it. _Oh god … … Oh god … Oh god. Oh god, ohgod ohgodohgodohgodoh__**god**__,_ his thoughts were hyperventilating even if he was forcing his slightly erratic breathing to stay still. What had he said? He knew what Reg was doing – he felt like he had some sort of stupid obligation to do what Barty wanted because he was his friend, or something –

"Nothing happened Barty, I just …" Wait a second. The blond watched his friend reach up and awkwardly put a hand on the back of his neck, still not looking at Barty even after he'd let go of Reg's arms in another pacifying gesture. If this was something that he felt uncomfortable about, this was _not_ the way Reg would be acting at all; he didn't look embarrassed, like when Lily Evans had looked across the table in the library at him and asked him something or another about a book he had in his stack. No – this was something else; it was almost a … guilty look …

"—ur letter and—"

"What." Slowly, Barty's brain was catching up with Regulus' body language, and the words he had just spoken, even if he'd only heard him say part of it. Something about a letter – _his_ letter? What letter? Had he written a letter? He couldn't remember. He'd stopped listening to Reg's explanation if he was giving one, trying to remember what in the fuck letter he could be referring to—

_Had a good hard wank though thinking about fucking that friend I said I have. _

Oh. Christ.

"Reg," he interrupted what his friend was saying if he was even saying anything – at this point, Barty didn't even know. What he did know was that he remembered, in very broken quotations, some of what the 'letter' Reg was referring to had said. Barty forced himself to take slow, even breaths; getting upset was _not_ going to help this situation, no matter how much his body seemed to want to. "Reg, are you talking about the letter I wrote while I was drinking that bottle of firewhisky you mentioned?" there was a waver in his voice that had little to do with the fact that his body was still shivering from the cold and damp in the dungeons mixed with the alcohol poisoning he had recently sustained. And his head; god his head – it was _killing_ him; he'd forgotten about it in lieu of all the exciting developments that were taking place rapid fire …

Regulus nodded mutely; if Barty cared, he probably would have thought that the dark haired teen was trying to figure out if the blond was angry or upset or what exactly. Honestly, Barty didn't really know himself, which was sort of frightening to the sixth year Slytherin. However, he must have at least sensed that whatever emotion or mix of them that Barty was feeling, it was negative, because he started to try and talk to remedy the situation.

"Barty, listen – I know how you feel, and I—"

"No." Uh-uh. No way in _hell_ was he going to do this. He knew what Reg was doing; he didn't think of Regulus being selfish or anything; there wasn't anything in this for him as far as Barty could see. He was doing that self-sacrifice thing again; he was trying to push his mind into a mold that it couldn't conform to.

"… Barty—"

"No."

"I just—"

"No."

"Will you just _listen_—"

"NO REG," he hadn't meant to raise his voice, but he was slowly getting a little panicked, especially with that pleading tone his friend was starting to take with him. He hated that tone; it was the tone Reg used when he was upset or confused or thought he needed something – it was the tone he used when he was lost and wanted help. He needed to shut his friend down as quickly as possible to do the most preemptive damage control. Barty didn't notice that someone across the room was stirring – and he wouldn't have cared if he had either. So much for damage control.

"No – I'm not listening to this; it's bullshit," the blond said almost harshly, leaving no room for argument as he tried to put some space between them. His robes made it hard, but right now he could not be that close to Regulus – he couldn't look him in the face for a moment either for the moment because he knew he was too weak to tell him off while looking at those goddamned _eyes _… He talking as he slid across the bed, attempting to disentangle himself from his robes as he did so to give himself something, _anything_ besides Regulus to focus on.

"We are _friends_, Reg. Friends. Nothing else – not more, not less. I am _not_ going to fuck that up," it was almost like, for a second, Barty wasn't even talking to Regulus, He hadn't lowered his voice either – if anyone was listening, it wouldn't be hard to hear what was going on – but due to his increase in blood pressure, and the fact that this situation was making him light headed, and not in the happy-go-lucky, lovestruck dizzy sort of way, he didn't notice.

"Not for me," he continued tersely, not giving Regulus time to get a word in edgewise, "and sure as _shit_ not for you. You _like_ me, Reg – you do _not_ love me. I don't have tits or red hair, so I'm out of the running. I know – I get that. Don't wave it around in my face like I'm as oblivious as you are." Yeah; he had called him out on it. He'd teased Regulus countless times before that he had a thing for that girl his brother and his friends hung around with, some sort of flower-name-what-have-you. She had been an alright bird, and it had been funny watching Reg try to function around her; but he was relatively sure no one else knew about that little secret flirtation he'd had with her.

"Because I'm not." Body nearly jittering now, from the adrenaline from yelling and the shivering throughout his entire being, his feet hit the ground a moment later, and that light headedness hit him again – so hard that he nearly pitched over. Reg might've said something – he couldn't be sure what, but he could feel the dark haired teen attempting to grab his arm to steady him, and he shook him off, nearly hitting the pale teen in the process.

"Don't _touch_ me, Reg," he said in a warning tone of voice, though really there was little threat behind it; he was shivering enough that he almost knocked_ himself_ over. Before his mate had a chance to get a hold of him, because then he _really_ wasn't going to be able to shake the git off, he started across the door unsteadily and left, hand braced on, well, anything that was close enough to him and more stable than he was, to help guide him forward …


	5. Come 'Round Soon

**Next installment in the series; sequel to ch.4 of Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man, Two out of Three Ain't Bad.**

Come 'Round Soon

"_One too many drinks tonight, and I miss you, like you were mine … All your stormy words have barely broken … And you sound like thunder though you've barely spoken … Oh it looks like rain tonight, and thank God – 'cause a clear sky just wouldn't feel right …_" ~Come 'Round Soon by Sara Bareilles.

As soon as Barty left the dormitory, he felt his stomach knot itself up in disgust with himself. It wasn't often that the blond let himself succumb to emotional rages, and especially not where Reg was concerned. Regulus was delicate – Barty knew that; he had known it for years. Regulus took pushes all the time – he got pushed, and pushed and pushed … and he never pushed back. Barty _knew_ he wouldn't push back – he wouldn't fight, he wouldn't argue; he always just accepted all of the blame anyone ever wanted to put on him, as if he had always known it was his fault to begin with.

There had been times, when they were still just getting to be real _friends_, that Barty had tried pushing him. A poke here, a shove there – just to see what would happen; to see if he had a button. A limit. _Something_ other than the programmed in whipping-post. And guess what? There was just about nothing – it had never happened as far as Barty had ever seen … Getting most emotional responses out of Regulus that weren't muted or hidden behind several layers of crap was like ripping teeth out of a nurse-shark. It was placid at first, and took a lot of prodding before it got a bit angry – you could do it for a while, but there were just so many rows of sharp pointy unpleasant things, there wasn't any way to completely accomplish your goal without deciding that it just wasn't worth the superficial injuries.

… … Aaand Barty had officially forgotten what the hell metaphor he was attempting to construct, nor what he had been trying to make a comparison to.

Sighing, he leaned over the edge of the couch he was sitting on, putting his elbows on his knees and clutching his head with both hands. He had at some point dragged himself down into the common room, and had added another log to the fire to stoke it up a bit; he felt like he was _never_ going to get warm. Getting closer to the orange blaze that was starting up, however, it was painful it was so warm … Absently, he heard someone walking behind him, and he knew by the footsteps who it was without looking.

God he was a sad individual.

He knew what Regulus' _feet_ sounded like. There was something not on with that, but he was busy forcing his feet to stay rooted to the ground, not figuring out what was wrong with his stalker-like tendencies. Because as soon as he knew it was the youngest Black, his urge was to immediately jump up and apologize –he didn't even know what he'd say. But it wouldn't matter; something would come out by way of saying in a sort of sideways tone that he had overacted or that it was fine, or they would never speak of it again – he'd call him a git, pronounce himself a moron, and they would be friends again the next day as if nothing had happened.

But he didn't.

Barty stayed right where he was sitting and let his best mate, who was most likely terribly emotionally distraught all on account of something stupid, once again, and was probably contemplating doing something more idiotic than Barty could even conceive of. The only thing this reaction he was forcing himself to have was their own mutually assured destruction in some way, shape, or form – that much he knew.

Then why wasn't he moving?

He could fix all of this; the blond Slytherin knew that all he had to do was chase Regulus down, say his peace, convince his friend that he wasn't upset with him and that he was just over emotional from the booze or something, and they could act like this had never happened. They could – this charade he'd kept up for the majority of the time he'd known Reg could just go on and on and on ad infinitum …

He just … … Didn't want to any more. Maybe the after affects of the booze were still swirling his head around – maybe he was just being a selfish git. But that _feeling_; the feeling of the dark haired Slytherin up against him, his warmth … It was something he couldn't get out of his head. It was something that he had never had before – never experienced … And he knew, beyond a shadow, that it had changed something in him … It would be an unbearable agony for him, one that he honestly couldn't even wrap his mind around fully at the moment, if he had to pretend that he didn't want that. If he had to pretend that some, not so small, selfish part of himself _didn't_ want Regulus …

"Lookit what we 'ave here …" blinking, Barty realized that he had been staring at the fire for a while now, and he had most likely lost track of time. Turning slightly, since he knew he was the only one in the common room at this ungodly hour, so whoever it was had to be speaking to him, he saw what looked like a couple of his house mates, one of which appeared to be holding good sized glass bottle.

Oh. Oh no … … This was definitely something he did _not_ need right no—

"Looks like we found ourselves a theif," the voice had a sneer, and honestly, in the sharp firelight, he couldn't tell who was speaking to him from the darkness – but the nearly empty firewhisky bottle. That caught the firelight beautifully. Hazel eyes narrowed slightly; he was in no condition to handle a confrontation; especially since it looked like he had three or so assailants to deal with.

"Sorry mates – dunno what you're on about," he said, turning back towards the fire, which felt like it was roasting him to death slowly and painfully. However, he kept his gaze trained away from them; he wasn't a bad actor honestly – look at the lie he'd been keeping from his best mate for years. Had to mean he was decent at hiding things, didn't it?

"Oh, but you do, _mate_," he heard footsteps getting closer to him, and Barty held his breath slightly, going to reach for his wand and realizing that … He didn't have it. He hadn't thought to pick it up when he had stormed out of the dormitory on his friend. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck. He needed to diffuse this situation or he was in for a world of hurt, he was sure.

"No – 'fraid I don—"

"_Imobulous_."

See, that was something that you could always count on Slytherin for – quick and decisive justice for a crime, no matter the severity, no matter the question of innocence. If the person fit the crime and could possibly be guilty, then they tended to take full responsibility for the action.

Unlike those wishy-washy Hufflepuffs, who wouldn't even really dwell on whatever wrong had been done to them. And of course eventually, being so full of sunshine and forgiveness, would decide that not only whatever had been done didn't really warrant repercussion, as it was not a long-standing disgression, but – and here was the real winning argument. Whoever it was hadn't meant to personally wrong the Hufflepuff it had been done to, and so, it would be the best to just forget it had ever happened. Or something.

Different than the Ravenclaw, who would try and logically deduce all possible suspects, collect evidence, figure out alibis, motive, et cetera … they would want all of the facts and all of the information they could possibly put their maddeningly over-thinking minds on before they would come to any sort of conclusion as to who it might have been who had committed whatever crime it was. And by then it would be the end of the school year and they would forget about it over the summer and justice would never be exacted.

And the polar opposite of Gryffindor; whoever the suspected culprit was would have some sort of fair trial, with a judge and a jury, and after both sides of the story had been exhausted to every angle, they would begin to deliberate. Eventually, the jury would come to some sort of unanimous decision regarding the guilt of the suspect – if found not-guilty, then it would move to the next suspect, unless further probable cause or motive was discovered. If found to be the culprit, the suspect will then be allowed to appeal that decision, and attempt to persuade their peers that evidence was circumstantial, it was his word against his …

But the Slytherin. Ah the Slytherin; cunning and vengeful – almost _primal_ in their instinct, would take gut feeling over any evidence presented; if their peers needed any convincing, a Slytherin would use any means necessary and within their power in order to pin any necessary blame on the one that they were _sure_ had wronged them. The satisfaction came after the assured guilt – when the proper punishment was exacted. The satisfaction came when they made the one who had wronged them know that it had been a _mistake_ – and that it was something that you _never_ wanted to do again.

Barty was quite sure that he had learned that lesson spectacularly.

A storm had broken out as two seventh years and a fifth year whose identities didn't matter at all had used a _Mobilicorpus_ charm to take the blond's prone form to somewhere that was more secluded. Lucky for them – any noise he made, should the paralyzing charm they used on him wear off, which it started to several times, was usually drowned out by the crack of thunder after a flash of lightning. Honestly, it seemed almost fitting – it _was_ just his luck after all, that the elements would turn on him like this.

But then, a clear sky just wouldn't _feel_ right.

He supposed he should count himself lucky that they'd levitated him down the hall sometime a few hours later and veritably thrown his body at the doors of the infirmary, which had apparently made enough noise that it woke Poppy Pomfrey up out of a sound sleep. Honestly, Barty didn't know how long he'd been laying there on the floor – he was cold and in more pain than he probably ever had been before, but that made sense, since he was on the floor in the hallway at three in the morning in a pool of his own blood.

And since when had it become so easy for people to wander around the halls at night? Either Argus Filch was off his A-game, or else some other students were up to some pretty intense shenanigans that particular evening.

"Oh my god—Can you hear me?" he heard a voice through the haze of his pulse beating in his ears, though responding was basically out of the question; the _Imobulous_ hex was gone, but even if he had been able to move his jaw, which was likely broken several times, he wouldn't have bothered – his mind was not there to allow him. Barty was unsure as to whether or not this was the med witch of the castle, but he was willing to make a bet on it.

Now, perhaps you think that this punishment, as far as for something befitting of the crime, removing several of Barty's teeth, breaking what felt like _all_ of the blond's bones, lacerations, bruises, _burns_ … This was a little extreme. And, for one Slytherin exacting his revenge for some pilfered alcohol, you'd be right. The problem laid in the fact that there had been _three_ of them – three angry, young Slytherin men who had all had ample time to egg each other on, each one upping the anty, not realizing how much damage they were doing because everyone was laughing, and that somehow made it alright. That made it so that the pain they were dishing out was justified, because the crime he had supposedly committed was one that kept becoming more and more atrocious, with more and more gravity, as time went on – and as they drank more of what was left of the booze.

Coughing weakly, he honestly didn't know what was going on; the world was moving he thought, but that might've been something else entirely – his head spinning, him falling down stairs – at this point it was hard to tell about most anything anymore.

Lightning flashed, lighting up the infirmary as charms were likely said, and he felt things fixing themselves vaguely he thought – but honestly … all he wanted to do was pass out.

In fact, that was exactly what he did.

_I … wish Reg … … were here … … _

**The End …?**


	6. Next Stop, Vegas Please

**Sequel to ch.5 of Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man, Many Shades of Black**

Next Stop, Vegas Please

"_It's never your fault you can't start your own winning streak … but I'd hate to lose you, to the fortune you seek …_" ~Vegas by Sara Bareilles

Hazel eyes opened for the first time in what felt like probably years … Or at the very least months; either way, the lids were heavy and the sockets ached, and he could barely get anything to focus … And when he did, he realized that holy shit, this room was bright. Immediately they were closed again, and he realized that it must've been daytime … And actually, it must not have been too early in the day either, because if that was sunlight, light in the morning didn't tend to be orange.

Oh god; he needed to yawn.

"Are you awake dear?" a voice made him pause and try to turn in the correct direction to respond, but god if his neck didn't ache … Actually, now that he thought about it, _all_ of him ached – in a pretty bad way. Ached and at times outright _hurt_ … Fuck; his entire body felt like someone had tarred it, feathered it, and then knocked it off a cliff. Into a lake of fire. Yeah; that sounded like an apt description; hell, _breathing_ hurt, he was coming to realize.

"Good – can you open your mouth for me? I need you to drink a potion …" Yeah, that was likely Madame Pomfrey, attempting to give him something, hopefully for the pain, which had actually caused him to stop breathing, he realized. Shit. Air. That was important. And that damned yawn; it was stuck in his throat. He needed to … This was going to suck.

Yeah; his eyes welled up as he parted his lips as little as possible and the muscles in his throat stretched and contracted, and the blond made some sort of dying noise. He couldn't even cry properly; if he even started breathing quickly, which was sort of a requirement of the desired action, it was going to set off some sort of … Horrible pain cycle, because it would hurt so he'd want to cry more, and if he cried more it would hurt more, so he'd want to cry more … And fuck; Barty didn't actually want to cry anyway, right? He could handle this – it was just a little pain … Ok, so it was a lot of pain, but whatever.

The sixth year Slytherin felt something behind his neck, presumably supporting his head, though thinking was a thing that was rapidly becoming more and more difficult. His eyes flickered, but he still couldn't open them comfortably without feeling like his retinas were burning out of his head. "Now, it's alright –just drink this. You want a full mouth of teeth, don't you?" he had of course, little to no idea what she was on about, concerning the teeth or what a potion had to do with the number of them that were in his skull, but he wasn't really in much position to argue with her either, and he swallowed slowly and as best he could in order to get all of the burning liquid down – but of course, that also made him feel like complete shite because there was nothing in his stomach, and there hadn't _been_ anything in his stomach in … Well, actually, he didn't know how long, but it was at least a day, since his only frame of reference was that the last thing he remembered was sleeping on and off through Saturday. However, since he hadn't the foggiest idea what day today was, it could have been far more than 24 hours since his last meal, and he wouldn't know.

"There you are – that should have those grown back in no time …" Barty could hear the pity in the young witch's voice, even if he couldn't see it on her face; he must've been in a pretty bad way of Madame Pomfrey was feeling bad for him – he knew that she was relatively knew at the castle in the position of medwitch, but he was also sure that in a very short amount of time, she would have seen a substantial amount of things and people and so, a substantial amount of injury.

"I'll warn you now though, Skele-gro does the job, but it won't feel good," she added with a sigh before walking away from where Barty was laying, pretty prone, in bed. (1) _Well, maybe it won't be so bad because it's only growing back a few …? I think …?_ The thought occurred to him that he honestly wasn't sure how many teeth he'd lost – he wasn't too sure of much as far as how badly he'd been beaten.

He was aware that there were a lot of spells at first – curses, hexes, generally unpleasant spells as such. His wand was likely still in the dormitory where he'd left it, but after the initial spells flying back and forth – not by any of his own doing, mind you, but rather the three of _them_ kept trying to best each other – including what he thought might've been a _Crucio_, which was probably the first time he'd blacked out for a bit from pain, they had decided that this was too easy. And apparently when things weren't difficult, you had to change up the plan to make it interesting. That was where the fists … And feet … and what might have even been teeth at some point or another, he really didn't know – most of the time was just equated to pain.

"I take it you are awake m'boy? 'D like to ask you a few questions about your … activities, last night." Oh good; a visit from Slughorn – how lucky for him. A shadow passed over Barty's face, and he knew that the man was looming over him like a colossal walrus, huffing slightly from the walk to this side of the castle and probably about to start bellowing … Rather like a walrus whose harem is being ogled by another walrus, but that was likely a hippogriff of a different feather, as this particular colossal walrus was concerned about what had landed Bartemius Crouch Jr. in the infirmary and not potential competition in mates … Or at least Barty _hoped_ this had nothing to do with harems, as that would be the Worst Case Scenario, indeed. (2)

"Please don't stay long Professor; I'll not have you working him up …" Barty wanted to reach out to Madame Pomfrey – wanted to tell her not to leave him to his walrus-y fate alone. But then, she would likely think that she had given Barty too many medications and that he was delirious – he wasn't sure if that would persuade her to tell Slughorn to bugger off or make him stay because the blond had been isolated from normal human contact for too long. Or something. He heard her shoes click across the room though, and she was gone – just as old Sluggs made some sort of walrus-like noise in dismissive response to her request and sat in a chair next to the bed Barty presumed he was in, making it creak and groan as if it were in more pain than the injured Slytherin was. And the blond wouldn't doubt it.

"Now, you know you can tell me anything," yeah – that was a complete load. He could tell Slughorn anything – if he wanted his body to be deposited at the bottom of the lake instead of in front of the infirmary doors next time. "And I know you were probably just messing around, and maybe things got a little out of hand … I just want to know who you were hanging around with so I can talk to them – you know, make sure that there was no harm done …" _You dumb bastard; obviously there was harm done – look like I got into a fight with a bludger in a supply closet – and the bludger won,_ he thought, unable to help the annoyance. But honestly – no harm done?

"Don't suppose I r'mem'er, Profess'r," he managed to murmur, using his mouth as little as possible – he could feel that Skeleton-whatever-it-was starting to work; his mouth was starting to throb – in a bad way. "Took a few his t' the head, I reckon …"

"You could at least look at me when we're having a conversation, Bartemius. It's good manners," Slughorn responded, as if he hadn't heard what the blond had said at all. "And come now – you must remember _something_ about the company you were keeping; what house were they? And year? Hmm? Your best guess—"

"Wif all due respect, profes'r," Barty started, keeping his eyes firmly closed and not facing the man either. He _hated_ being called by his first name – most professors in the school referred to him as Mr. Crouch, which was fine; though it made him think of his father, not as much as that _name_ did. It was the only way his father ever addressed him. _Ever_. It was just one of those things that really irked him. "I've been unconscious all day in the infirmary, and I've barely had time to open my eyes yet at all, which let me tell you, is not fun. I don't even know what _time_ it is, let alone what I was doing. For all I remember, I could've fallen down the bleeding _stairs_ – there are a lot of them here, you know, and they tend to move, on occasion."

"… … …" Ah; silence. Pure, golden silence. That was exactly what he wanted to hear out of old Sluggs; maybe the walrus would bugger off and leave him to the now stabbing ache he felt in his jaw. Talking as much as he had had apparently sped things up with that stuff Poppy had given him, because it felt like his mouth was trying to slowly split itself apart in several places at once. _Fuck_.

"Well actually, Bartemius, _for your information_, you have been unconscious in the infirmary for _two_ days," Slugghorn said in a rather short tone, and Barty almost turned to face him at that – what did he mean _two_ days? Oh crap …

He'd never sent that response letter to that howler.

His father was going to _kill_ him.

"But, as I can see you are in no condition for guests," the professor continued as he ceased his torture of the chair he was seated in, "I shall return at a later time, when you have a better disposition." _Good riddance_ … he thought to himself crossly – he wanted to turn his back to where Slughorn had been sitting, but he didn't dare move. It now felt like his jaw was attempting to slowly tear itself off.

"Poor dear," ah; so Madame Opium had come back. He didn't even want to respond to her; maybe he could go back to sleep…? Nope; nothing doing – she was suddenly casting a spell for something that was suddenly burning his skin. Which suddenly elicited a sudden reaction of a rather sudden pathetic yell that suddenly resembled a rather … choice … word.

"There," she said after torturing the blond for what was probably only a few minutes or so, but felt like eons to the injured teenager, who couldn't do too much more than lay there and writhe, occasionally making a noise or two that otherwise served to profess how pathetic he was. And felt. But mostly just was.

That was one thing he had – plenty of time to wallow through his pain in his own thoughts … and most of the things he found there were pretty depressing, honestly. His potions grades were horrible, as far as his father was concerned transfiguration, the one thing he was decent at, was completely useless – so he had no talent at all in his father's eyes. Which was why his father was never going to love him or respect him or be proud of him for anything he did – because he didn't have a natural ability to do anything that would aid him in working for the Ministry of Magic.

Which was the only respectable job anyone in the wizarding community could have.

And unless his father handed it over to him, he was never going to amount to anything at life.

Right; so he could have a desk job and a wife he married because he was supposed to, not because he loved her or even really liked her, or had anything in common with her – or really wanted anything to do with her at all, except to cook and clean. Not that he would ever notice because he would never be home long enough to see if there was dust on anything, or to eat the home cooked meals that she slaved over for years with no gratitude. And then, he would have a kid that he only had in order to continue the family line, because his father would pressure him into it – only to avoid ever coming in contact with that son, so that you are a stranger to your own continued bloodline. Then, that accomplished, he could continue emotionally abusing his wife, and whenever something went even _slightly_ awry would be the only time he would be a presence in his son's life, because of course, discipline and discipline only was the way to deal with anything that resembled insolence.

That was one of the things that the blond was terrified about, actually, though he never allowed himself to say it, out loud or otherwise … Barty was _named_ after his father – Bartemius Crouch. And he had seen how the first one had come out – and if he ever, _ever_ turned into him, he just … Didn't know what he'd do. Closing his eyes more tightly, he sighed, though even that much made his chest sting. Barty just didn't want to be so caught up in what could be after he accomplished a little bit more in life that he lost himself … Seeking his fortune and forgetting about everything else but the prize at the end of the road that he was never going to obtain …

For a while, he had been convinced that he felt certain … _things_ … for members of the same sex because he was so dead set on being different from his father; that it was just some sort of stupid thing he'd tricked himself into so that he wouldn't turn into his father. So he'd have _something _different – and hey; if he was gay, he'd never have a kid – and if he never had a kid, he could never fuck one up either …

"Back again, Mr. Black?" a slightly terse voice caught his attention, but he didn't care to figure out what was going on; he didn't think about his father much, because Regulus was normally was depressed enough for three or four people. But Reg wasn't there right now, so …

"I turned you away several times yesterday after you were recovered, and I've turned you away several times today as well; what makes you think that this time will be any different?"

"Is he awake, Madame Pomfrey …?" Barty knew that voice. He almost turned towards it, but he valued his face and the fact that he liked it when it was in as little pain as possible. Slowly, the sixth year Slytherin started to talk slow, calm breaths through his nose, attempting to push down his earlier, more depressing thoughts. If Reg was here, he didn't need to see his friend like this.

Problem was, with all this recent thinking he'd been doing and the pain and everything he seemed to be… stuck.

… … shit.

"… … Luckily for you, this time he is." And then, familiar footsteps. Though there was probably still something weird about the fact that the blond could identify him by his feet.

_No; Reg just … Stay over there … … _the thought crossed his mind weakly, as he knew his friend of course was not going to oblige. He just … Couldn't get a lid on it for some reason.

"Don't stay long though; I'll not have you working him up …" Pomfrey always said that, no matter who you were going to visit or who you were – even if a professor, or, on rare occasions, the headmaster, came to visit.

"Barty …?" the voice was sort of tentative – but then, the blond's eyes were closed, so it probably looked like he was still sleeping. In fact, he wanted to continue acting like he was … But he knew he couldn't. Poppy had told Reg that he was awake, and pretending to be asleep was only going to upset his friend, because he would think Barty was angry at him or some stupid shit like that.

"Reg …" he started as he heard his friend sit down next to his bed, hating the waver in his voice, but knowing that he had to say something. Unfortunately, he also knew that Reg would be able to tell he was having one of his rare, upset moments that he couldn't shake. Slowly, he chanced carefully opening one eye, though it was likely unfocused, and he couldn't really see much besides what was probably his friend's face. Honestly the light was hurting his eyes, but he was at least trying to look at Reg … Probably more than a slightly silly idea, if he wanted Reg to remain as oblivious to his rather unfortunate emotions at present as the dark haired Slytherin usually was.

"I think … now's not a good time …"

**The End …?**

1 – Yes yes; before anyone says anything, I know that teeth are not _bones_ – however, teeth are considered part of your skeletal system. And the potion is called "Skele-gro", not "Bone-gro", so I felt I could take the liberty of saying it would cover teeth in the equation.

2 – Credit for this excellent passage goes to SuperMargarita; she is the most excellent portrayer of Bartemius Crouch Jr. that has ever portrayed Bartemius Crouch Jr. xDDD


	7. Many the Miles

******Thirteenth installment in the series; sequel to ch.6 of Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man, Gotta Get Up From Here**

Many the Miles

"_I made up my mind when I was young, I've been given this one world, I won't worry it away … But now and again, I lose sight of the good life – I get stuck in a low light, but then my Love comes in_…" ~ Many the Miles by Sara Bareilles

"Goddammit Regulus Arcturus Black – I'm going to beat your sorry Slytherin _arse_ if you don't get back here _right now_," Barty said this as harshly and as loudly as he could possibly manage at the time, which was relatively impressive for someone who was currently confined to a hospital bed and felt like their mouth was on fire and slowly attempting to remove itself from his face. The blond was in _no mood_ for Regulus' normal shenanigans – if he had been unconscious for two days, like everyone was saying, then he was sure his idiot friend had used that ample amount of time away from Barty to talk himself into believing that it was his fault his friend had been beaten up by a couple of little twats that managed to get one up on him, and he was stupidly depressed and … Augh; it was likely a huge mess inside that head of his, and Barty knew that he needed to talk to the boy _now _to straighten all that shit out, or else Merlin only knew when the next time he saw the brunet would be.

"Listen Reg," Barty started, hearing his friend's footsteps stop – he wanted to stop talking; god he wished he could _stop moving his face_, but he couldn't. Reg was more important, so stopping for his own comfort wasn't an option. "In case you've somehow spectacularly failed at existence and missed it," he began good-naturedly, "I can't chase after you right now mate. Hell, I probably can't even _stand_ right now – everything hurts. Things I didn't even know could hurt hurt – hell, I think those are the follicles in my _head_ I'm feeling pain from … …" Alright; this train of thought had derailed itself slightly more quickly than Barty would have liked. Pausing, he collected his thoughts again before he continued speaking, least this go down another tangent like it had with Slugghorn the Horned (Horny?) Walrus.

" Right; anyway, back on track," he said, mentally shuddering at that last thought and starting to bring a hand up stiffly to push some hair out of his face – then realizing that his fingers felt really stiff. Brow furrowing, he chanced opening one eye again and blinked a few times, trying to get his vision to come into focus. Ruddy sunset – couldn't see a blasted thing … Eventually, managing to see what was on his hand, his spirits fell slightly more. Those were splints. On every single one of his fingers. Well bollocks.

"What's going on?" Barty almost screamed; he had known that Madame Pomfrey would hear him yell at Reg, and that she would want to come in to see what he was fussing over. Letting out a slow breath, he was about to tell her it was nothing when she apparently deduced what was happening and took it upon herself to try and rectify the situation. "Mr. Black, I think it's about time for you to lea—"

"Madame Pomfrey," the blond interrupted; he knew if he let her finish that sentence Regulus was as good as gone. "With all due respect ma'm, don't take this the wrong way, but you haven't seen me upset yet … However, I promise you will if you make him leave." His voice was almost dull; it wasn't a threat – it was just a statement. Simply because he knew himself – he would get agitated if Reg was left to his own devices, and agitated meant jittery, and jittery meant constantly attempting to move around and not let himself thing, and if he was attempting to move around instead of laying there in the docile manner he had been up until now, his healing was going to go _much_ more slowly … So rather than go through all of that, he thought he'd save the both of them the trouble and headache and just let her know.

She stood there for a long moment, suspicious of his words and motivations, and Barty just looked back at her, lone eye opened and squinting in the general direction of where Madame Pomfrey was standing. After this staring contest, she sighed, taking her hands off of her hips and striding quickly over to the window, drawing the curtains.

"Well you at least don't have to be _blind_, I suppose," the young medwitch said in a slightly huffy tone of voice. "But not much longer, do you hear?" he didn't say anything as she strode off; just let out a breath of air that had been trapped in his lungs and was making them ache.

"C'mere, you dumb git," the blond muttered after an extended silence that followed her departure – at this point, after he'd bitched about being in pain, he doubted Regulus would argue with him too much more about staying put. At least now he could see, and he did just that with relish, the dim light blocked by the curtain gave enough illumination that he could make out Reg's face, but it was dim enough he could comfortably open both eyes without feeling like he was going blind via pouring acid on his face. And, rather than wait for Regulus to say anything intelligent, Barty just started talking – he knew that he was going to just have to do most of the talking anyway.

"Listen, Reg, I know you've convinced yourself for that this is your fault," he started quietly, voice raspy and jaw throwing a bloody tantrum about being used so much, "and I know telling you it's not isn't going to convince you. You'll just nod and agree with me, and then dig yourself into depression. You know, if being depressed was an occupation, you wouldn't even be here right now – you'd be a child prodigy, and the highest paid wizard in the land, and more of a work-a-holic than my old man—" here he hesitated. For a very long while. Crouch Sr ... Yeah; it was a topic he didn't really like to discuss, but …

"You're right; he's a jackass – my old man, I mean," Barty's voice grew quiet here and he sighed, "believe you me, no one except maybe my mum knows it better than me." Lightly, he shook his head, "but I'm glad he's not here right now – hasn't been here." Unconvincing tone was unconvincing, and that hint of depression was seeping into his voice again … "Reg, they _jumped_ me; out of nowhere. I didn't put up a fight – I didn't have time; I was completely off guard. Suddenly I was just being carted off somewhere and having the tar beaten out of me … Not something Bartemius Crouch Senior would think highly of – so I'd honestly prefer if he knew as few of the details as possible." _And I'm sure I won't be disappointed; I'll probably get a howler blaming me for getting into a fight_, he thought almost bitterly at the end of that statement, not daring to say it out loud even if it was true. Shifting slightly he winced; it was official – his jaw felt like it was slowly puling itself off of the rest of his head.

"And yeah; I want to get better too, hopefully before my mum gets here and sees me ... You know what?" he paused, looking at Reg with a sort of stern, almost annoyed expression for a long moment. "Don't be a bloody stranger and maybe I won't go completely stir-crazy in here. And besides; it's not like I can come looking for you to beat some sense into you when you're being all non-sensical-like …" the blond sixth year hadn't really meant to say that last part, exactly, but it was true – if Regulus started to wallow in his stupid depression like a Stupid McStupe-stupe, Barty wouldn't know about it, and it wasn't like anyone else in their house would noticed or be arsed enough to care and do something about it, or even mention it to someone.

Anyway, he'd about said his peace, and it was probably pretty sad, but it actually _had_ taken a lot out of him – he was tired, and he wanted to go to sleep again. And stop talking; it was starting to ache all the way up in that hollow under his eyes. The blond didn't turn on his side; that was normally how he slept, but of course moving was basically out of the question for the moment, so he was confined to his back, which was probably the least comfortable position of all for him to be in … … Fuck being injured. Seriously.

"And now I feel like passing out," he muttered with a sigh, though not quite starting to drift off yet. "Between you and Sluggs, I haven't had a second's peace since I woke up. Dumb bastard was in here trying to get me to tell him what happened before I even knew where I was practically." Barty nearly laughed at the notion, but that would have been a sore mistake; he needed to laugh like he needed a hole in his chest – which is probably exactly what it would feel like he had there if he did laugh. "Like I'd tell him anything anyway …" shaking his head slightly, patronizingly amused expression vaguely crossing his face, he yawned a little, which made him wince, and his eyes well up again for a second – god_damn_ that hurt.

**The End …?**


	8. Fairytale

Sequel to chapter 7, Needles and Pins, in Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man.

**Fairytale**

"_Sleeping Beauty's in a foul mood, for shame! She says none for you dear prince, I'm tired today … I'd rather sleep my whole life away than have you keep me from dreaming …_" ~Fairytale by Sara Bareilles

.

A week.

It had been a fucking _week_ since he'd seen Regulus.

Sure, his friend had stopped by a couple of times to make sure he was still breathing, and that he wasn't trying to climb up the walls in order to see if the ceiling was less boring than the hospital bed he was confined to. And they had a superficial conversation or two about Reg going to Hogsmeade while Barty was a Prisoner of War, or Orion coming to Hogwarts to make sure his son wasn't _dead_, or about the buggering _weather _– basically they had talked about fuck-all in comparison to what they _should _have been on about. At this point Barty was almost too annoyed to care, because when it boiled right down to it, Regulus Black, his supposed best mate, was _avoiding_ him.

Oh sure, he popped in every now and again, but he didn't come meaning to actually have a _dialogue_ about anything _important_ with Barty. He came to bitch about his newfound fangirls and notoriety, which he apparently hadn't recognized as either of those things as of yet. Good. He hoped the stalkers realized how much of an imbecile the sixth year was and cut it the ever-living fuck out.

Fuck.

Regulus had left the room shortly after their only even _vaguely_ meaningful conversation, and ever since the blond had been used as a battering ram against the door of the Infirmary, it was the only time they had even _approached_ the subject of what they really needed to talk about. And it had been completely one-sided. Hell, they wouldn't have even had _that _much if he hadn't stopped the idiot – Reg had been about to run before Barty could say anything to him. And Barty knew after he'd spoken that once again, something was wrong … in the way Regulus acted, and held himself … But the blond didn't know what it was, so he didn't know how he could possibly fix it … And honestly, he was starting to slowly but surely become sick of trying.

It was a selfish thing to think, to be sure, but he was only human; he had been friends with Regulus ever since first year at Hogwarts through a sort of coincidental happen-stance, and, well, long story short, Regulus had always been very good at being broken. A harsh way to put it, but it was the truth – more often than not, a lot of the time through his own doing, something was going wrong with the youngest son of the Most Noble and Nefarious House of Black (as his older brother Sirius often termed it, apparently). It wasn't that something was going wrong actively, per say. No; it was that Regulus _thought_ something was going wrong, or something was happening that wasn't positive, and it was happening because he had done something or failed to do something. Or that, for whatever reason, the universe hinged on every action Regulus Black took, and adjusted itself accordingly.

A rather self-centered notion it was, when you got down to it.

But, Reg's supposed narcissism aside, he was also a pretty fragile person when it came right down to it, whether he put up a good face or not. The problem came when a fragile person thought that all of the things that were wrong in the world were his fault; at that point, as Barty had decided a million times, Regulus became depressed enough for several people all at once, and usually most of the time. And Barty, probably better than a lot of people, knew that the last thing that Regulus needed added to his plate was _more_ bullshit, such as his friend's feelings for him …

However, Barty was getting tired of having to do acrobatics because he was afraid whatever he _actually _wanted to say or do would upset his mate. He was getting _very_ tired.

And so , perhaps it was a combination of how fed up he was getting, mixed with the painkillers that were likely altering his perception of the situation to some degree, with a good helping of the fact that he was going so goddamned stir-crazy that he had contemplated digging his own eyes out with his fingernails for entertainment more than once, or perhaps it was something else … But either way, when Regulus came into the room, which he could again tell that it was his best mate simply by the distinctive way he walked across the nearly empty infirmary, Barty rolled his eyes and didn't move to face the dark haired sixth year Slytherin; he continued to stare at the wall.

"Guess who's a royal pain in the ass?" Well; _he_ sounded chipper. But then again, he might've just sounded so pleased with life, the universe, and _everything_ because of the stark contrast Barty was feeling as he brooded in this _stupid_ bed, which he was hoping he could get out of soon. He missed the grayish not-light of the dungeons; at least _that_ didn't wake him up at the crack of dawn so that he could get an early start on laying there with his thoughts all day and resenting Regulus for being such a motherfucking delicate, pansy-arsed _coward_.

"Can't imagine Reg; who?" he asked, the sigh evident in his almost bored tone of voice as he forced himself not to engage in conversation with his friend, even though he knew that somewhere, not so deep down, he was glad his friend had come to see him again. Alright; so he was a little angry. And a little bitter. And he was trying to give Regulus that impression by acting aloof - but dammit, Regulus had avoided him _all fucking week_ when he _knew_ Barty couldn't corner him and force him to talk, and he _knew_ they needed to have a sodding conversation. It just irked him pretty badly that once again, something that might have even vaguely become emotionally engaging, or god forbid even _distressing_, and Reg had bailed on him. Again, he might add.

"My idiot brother," the youngest member of the Black family answered, seemingly completely unfazed by Barty's lack of enthusiasm, and with that grin. That _stupid_ little grin; Barty wasn't even facing him and he knew exactly what his face looked like. Bringing up a hand, he put his fingers against his forehead; he hadn't had a particularly note-worthy headache since last week before he'd been stuck there, a combination of pain, painkillers, and a few sleeping draughts keeping him from really missing sleep, or thinking too much about pain in his head as opposed to pain elsewhere. The blonde knew that Reg was talking, and he couldn't give a shit less about what; the moron's voice nattering on was apparently enough to raise his rather traitorous spirits.

Barty, in a parallel to his father that he would never see, let alone acknowledge, was _very_ stubborn; and he _wanted_ to be mad at Regulus. And so, he remained on his side, facing the windows even though eh _hated_ facing them with that ungodly bright afternoon sun coming through them. Madame Pomfrey had insisted on opening the horrid things _every bleeding day_, and Barty, used to living in the dungeons, was not adjusting well to the unwieldy amount of light pouring through them.

To be perfectly fair though, at the moment Regulus was sort of an outlet to a veritable waterfall of anxiety that the blond had been left alone to think about for the past seven days or so. Not only had Slughorn been in to see him and badger him about what had happened _every single day_, and not only that, but the headmaster, Albus Dumbledor himself, had paid him a visit. He hadn't told the man anything, but it would be a lie if he said he hadn't been tempted. But, here's the shocker; guess who hadn't set foot in the infirmary for _any_ length of time during the entire week he'd been there? That's right – neither his mum nor his dad had come to see him. Even though Madame Opium had explained that she had owled them the day that he had gotten into the infirmary to let them know his status. Oh, his mum had owled him once – he had recognized her tiny, curly handwriting as soon as he had seen the address on the letter, and had explained why she couldn't come and see him.

At least she'd had the decency to explain herself; his father had probably forgotten he was even in school. That or he thought that this had been some sort of elaborate suicide attempt on his part to get out of explaining why he was doing so poorly in Potions. Yes – this was all a clever ruse gone slightly awry to cover up the fact that he was a complete slacker and failure at most areas of life. Because he was struggling with Potions. Yep; that had to be it – you caught him in his game. No one can get anything by you, Bartemius Crouch Sr.

Wow; was Regulus still talking? And he still hadn't figured out that Barty didn't want him there? It was like nudging at a particularly stupid stray crup (1) with your shoe – you felt bad _actually_ kicking it, but you wanted it to sod off, so you tried to push it across the sidewalk to give it the hint that you wanted it to go away. And it just kept coming back and getting tangled up in your feet because it can't take a bleeding hint and it's going to fucking _make_ you kick it halfway across the street so that it gets lost or hit by a car. Whatever, as long as the dumb thing leaves you alone?

"—r. Crouch? MR. CROUCH!" Barty jumped in the bed he was laying in, turning partially over so that he could see behind himself; oh – when had Madame Pomfrey gotten there? She was holding what looked to be a clipboard, and clearly had been attempting to get his attention for a while at least.

"Huh? Oh – yeah?" he asked, slightly disoriented and turning over to face her and Regulus, whom he pointedly did not look at. She sighed, exasperated, but the blond didn't look the least bit remorseful; honestly his expression was a little stony.

"I said, if you were paying attention, that I think you are fit to at least spend the rest of the weekend in your own bed, so long as you check back at least once during the day tomorrow," Madame Pomfrey said this almost curtly as she looked at him, and he blinked a few times, hazel eyes at first not understanding, but then realizing what this statement meant, and the subsequent implications, they grew wide.

"And, if Mr. Black would escort you back to the common room …?"

"No," he immediately answered, almost hastily. He could feel her frown – the response had come out before he'd had time to stop it really. To his surprise, Reg piped in before Barty could say anything.

"Don't worry Madame Pomfrey; I'll make sure he gets back in one piece," he heard his fellow Slytherin say as the blond managed to slide himself to the edge of the bed and stand up a little unsteadily. Cut him some slack – he hadn't been vertical in a full week. Feeling something catch his arm and hold him a little more steady, he resisted the urge to shake Reg off – it was fine. This would be fine. He just needed to get to the dormitory, get back into bed, and … Really, it was just a change of scenery, but it would be a welcome change – he was so _sick_ of the infirmary …

Barty didn't say anything to Regulus the entire way back to the Slytherin dormitory, mostly managing to walk on his own two feet; hell, he wouldn't even know if Reg _said_ anything, except for once when he had gotten grabbed shaken a little bit because he'd almost rather mechanically walked off the end of a staircase that was in mid-movement. He'd been called some sort of name, Merlin only knew what, though that was likely because he'd probably scared Reg half to death. You know, with the whole prospectively falling to his death and all.

The rest of the way back to the common room probably went mis-hap free, except that the fair haired Slytherin did notice a few wayward stares in their direction. Also a flock of girls, but apparently those now accompanied Regulus everywhere unless he chased them off. It appeared that a few of them were whispering quietly, though Barty couldn't make out what they were saying, and they eventually left off, or so he thought because there was some silence to be had. The only other thing of note that he noticed on their journey was that the password had been changed to "Pure Blood" before he ducked his head and ambled into the common room, heading for the stairs; he had had enough of this walking crap. What had made him want to leave the infirmary again?

"Lookit 'im; got his arse beat and doesn't even know by who!" Barty chose to ignore this rather staged whisper, hand on the railing of the stairs. He paused for a moment, fingers curling on the banister before he quickly started up the steps; it wasn't worth it. Any other time it would be worth it; to stop those idiot snickers with a _Densaugeo_.(2) It was likely he'd regret it later, since in Slytherin the only thing that mattered was your reputation, and the blond's was completely _shot_.

And he just didn't care.

He just wanted to go … Sleep the rest of his life away.

**The End …?**

1 – From Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, this is basically a magical version of a Jack Russell Terrier with a forked tail.

2 – the tooth-growing hex Draco cast on Hermione; not sure if I spelled it right and too lazy to look … xD


	9. Love Song

Sequel to Ch8 of Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man, entitled "Heartbreaker"

**Love Song**

"_No easy way to say this – you mean well, but you make this hard on me … I'm not gonna write you a love song, 'cause you asked for it, 'cause you need one, you see …_" ~Love Song by Sara Bareilles

.

"I think we need to talk."

Really? The two Slytherin had had a whole _week_ to talk, and Reg decided he wanted to try _now_? At this point, Barty just wanted to try and smother himself with his pillow in peace, since it would probably be faster than slowly drowning in his own humiliation. Hey – once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, and reputation was … You know, honestly he wasn't sure why he was so fussed about it. But he knew he _did_ care because he could feel the heat his face had developed since whatever asshole that was in the common room had commented on his current state of health. And since it went all the way from his neck to his hairline, as his blushes were often wont to do … He was pretty certain he was thoroughly humiliated. Hence the drowning in it.

"I—I know you think I'm emotionally retarded or more likely an idiot, but I just wanted to make sure everything was okay between us." Well, clearly Regulus had gotten the point that Barty was a little less than pleased with him, or he would still be skirting around this subject like it was positioned on a bed of hit iron spikes, so obviously everything was not exactly perfect between them … "I know you think I don't—I don't know how I feel, Barty. I really don't. I wish I did, but I don't. And it breaks my heart to know you feel the way you do and think I…" _Oh no; Reg, don't do this … _Barty sighed mentally, resisting the urge to put his hand on his face. This was probably the biggest reason that Barty never wanted his friend to find out about his feelings; because Regulus was … Well, Regulus. He wouldn't want his friend to feel bad or awkward or anything, so much like when he'd kissed the blond, he would want to try going out or something because of the possibility that he might maybe conceivably be bisexual. It was just painful … This whole situation.

"I don't want to lose you. You're my best friend, and I love you, and I don't want to lose you!" still the blond didn't say anything; he didn't know _what _to say at this point. He was actually a little hurt that Reg thought that just because he didn't reciprocate Barty's feelings that his fellow sixth year was going to drop him like a bad habit. Even if he could quit the seeker that easily, chances are high that he wouldn't, since he wasn't a complete knob.

"I understand if you want me to leave you alone. You deserve a better friend than me." _No; I don't even deserve you at all, you idiot_ … "Fuck, I find out you've been beaten half to death by some seventh-years, and what do I do? I lash out at them. I don't try and find you. No, that would be too sensible and selfless. Instead, I try to make them pay." _That's because they hurt me you idiot; you were being an impulsive teenage idiot._ "How do you fucking stand it? How do you stand trying to bloody deal with me?"

"Reg, shut up," Barty interrupted him immediately, voice wavering slightly – he couldn't listen to this. He hated when Regulus started doing this; started telling him how he wasn't worth the flesh he was made up of, trying to explain all of his faults to Barty, even though usually he could just as easily explain anything he said away. Usually his friend backed down when interrupted, so he wasn't worried about that –

"No! No, I will not shut up!" Hazel eyes widened slightly as Barty paused; he hadn't been expecting that at all, and was slightly taken aback by the outburst. He was laying on his back, not looking at his friend, but now he glanced in Regulus' direction, just as the brunet stood up. "I don't understand! How in the hell can you think I'm worth something? I'm a selfish bastard that clearly doesn't give a shit about other people! How can you think…!"

"I just wanted to say I was sorry. Can you ever forgive me?" For a while, Barty laid there, just looking at his friend. He didn't _mean_ to make Regulus squirm, though he knew that the other sixth year probably would because the silence stretched on for so long – he was just trying to choose his words carefully.

"Reg … …" he started, finally, before pausing again … "… … you're an idiot." It was really the only thing he could say; there wasn't anything behind it – anger, or even annoyance, entirely gone. Hell, he couldn't even remember why he was mad at Regulus; it was probably some stupid reason. The closest thing to emotion in his voice at the moment was something like a sigh, if you wanted to count that. And he could see that that was probably not the answer his friend was expecting by the look on his face, but if it looks like a wand and feel- you know what, that was a little innuendo-ish and unnecessary at the moment.

"I guess this is a case of the pot and kettle, but … It's the best descriptor I can come up with on such short notice. Reg, why do you _always_ do this? Work yourself into thinking that you're a worthless waste of space?" pulling himself up, a little tangled in his robes that thankfully, Madame Pomfrey had cleaned once or twice with a charm or two while he was in the infirmary so he didn't feel _completely_ disgusting, he sat instead of remaining on his back. Sitting cross-legged and leaning against the headboard of his bed, he looked at Reg for a moment before he continued, if only to keep his friend from answering.

"Reg, listen – if you keep going on about me forgiving you, you might convince me you did something wrong, which, in light of your most recent arguments, I'd have to say is a lie." Mentally, Barty Crouch Jr. cracked his knuckles; if he wanted Regulus Arcturus Black to knock it off and possibly, maybe, _hopefully _forget he had found anything out about his poof of a friend, and the fact that the brunet had had a stupid moment for a second, then he would … He didn't know what he'd do, but he was willing to promise something pretty extreme in exchange. The brunet started to open his mouth to say something, but the hazel eyed teen raised a hand to cut him off.

"Just, sit down and let me talk right now, ok? … You're only confused because you _want _to be confused; when I said I knew I was out of the running because I was lacking in the red hair and breasts department, I wasn't kidding," Barty shook his head slightly with a smile as Regulus did as he'd asked, "and I'll bet that bird you were staring at in Hogsmeade had both, ya?" Yes, he had been paying attention – he usually paid attention when his friend rambled, even if he was trying not to hear him. "You, my friend, are as straight as an arrow, and we both know it, even if you don't want to say it out loud. And that's only because you don't want to upset me, because you're a _damn _good friend, if horribly _daft_ sometimes ... Sure, you have your days – everyone does. Unlike my dad, I don't think everything has to be completely perfect all the time, or else it equates to utter failure."

"And, I'm flattered – really … But you pretending to be anything that you're not isn't what being friends is about; and I wouldn't ask you to." Leaning his head back a little, he closed his eyes, not looking at Reg anymore. "And I can't fault you for how you are, just as much as I _hope_ you can't fault me for the way _I_ feel … It's not like either of us can help it. It'd be … Really dumb to try." He laughed a little bit wryly at that idea; oh god how he'd tried to help it in the past. The sad thing was that most likely for the rest of his life, or at least until his old man was out of the picture, he'd try to change that part of himself. And he knew that it was like swimming against the current near the end of a river going over a waterfall – it was never going to work. But he'd do it until he exhausted himself trying, and ended up drowning.

"And please – _you're _a bad friend? At least you don't cast hexes on me when I fuck up a potion," there was a small grin in his expression he couldn't shake. "Which I realize is often, because Potions is a mysterious subject of mystery to me that I will never be able to grasp. I'd rather turn my notebook into a cat any day." Snape-a-doodle, as he had been called once or twice, though seldom to his face, had been … Less than patient during potions tutoring, more often than not, and Barty had made mistakes making a potion more often than not. If he was going to be the potions master someday, patience was something the old boy was going to have to figure out. Or not; he could just beat his students, Barty supposed. Slip some sort of Draught of Forgetfulness into their drinks later so they couldn't tell their parents perhaps? Right; stay on topic Barty; on topic. We're having a serious discussion right now.

"You found out I was hurt and got mad; honestly, I didn't think you had it in you Reg," he opened one eye to look at Regulus now; it was hard to keep his eyes off of him because that made it difficult to gauge how his friend was taking all of this, "I'dve been less … I dunno, surprised and weirdly happy if you _had _come and found me. Nice to know there's someone around to avenge my untimely death and all. Also, selfless? No; the selfless thing was going after those arseholes after the fact and putting yourself in trouble – it would have been selfish to come after me. Or at least it wouldn't have been so balls to the wall stupid, which is usually not your exact area of expertise." Yes; Regulus was stupid, but not usually so gutsy-stupid; no, that was something that showed up very seldom, if at all.

"And, if you offer to leave me alone until the end of time again, I'm going to pay one of the Ravenclaw beaters you're up against next week to bean you in the face with a bludger whenever the opportunity arises." At this, he crossed his arms, because there was a degree of seriousness to this statement, and he wanted the younger son of the Moste Esteemed and Decrepit House of Black to know that. "I don't _deal _with you, Reg; I _like_ you – in a platonic sense, I mean. If you ever make me say this again I'll kill you , but you're too stupid-smart for your own good in a weirdly endearing sort of way, usually you're pretty funny, you're loyal to a goddamned _fault,_ and you are probably the most attractive seeker to ever play on a Quidditch team in the history of forever – no joke; I've looked at the pictures in the Hogwarts trophy hall before. You are, like, every teenage girl's heartthrob ... And we will now commence never mentioning again that I said any of that. I just thought you should know."

Yeah; that last part, though he had meant it, and on occasion had rather appreciated that they were both males so that he had some sort of an excuse, not that he needed one, to be present when Reg was changing his clothes … And probably wasn't something he should have mentioned, because now there was probably no way in hell that he was ever going to get away with _that_ again. Well, that is unless Regulus completely forgot what he had been told, which actually was entirely possible … Either way though, he needed to wrap this up before Regulus interrupted him or stopped listening or something stupid, because at the moment at least, he appeared to have Reg's rapt attention.

"In short, Reg, I'm not expecting anything from you – hell, I don't _want_ anything from you," the blond said, still not looking at Regulus. Alright; here was the big one- this was the only thing that he wanted from his friend, and he was hoping to whatever higher power existed up there that it wouldn't be completely out of the question …

"Except maybe to forget the past week or so never happened." After a long pause and a few deep, quiet breaths, he chanced looking at Regulus. A few times the youngest Black had attempted to say something, but Barty had kept pressing on; honestly, he needed to get this out in the open because he wasn't sure how his friend was going to react to any of this. And as such, it all needed to be said, or else it might never get out there. Even if Reg decided that it was too weird to be around Barty or whatever, at least he'd know how Barty felt. In a sane, rational way, and not a drunken letter to his old man kind of way … When next he spoke, he knew there would be at least a hint of begging in his voice, but it wasn't something he could get rid of easily, and he had to say the rest of this now or else he was going to lose his nerve.

"I'll never bring this up again if you won't. And as far as I'm concerned, we never have to have this conversation again if you don't want to." _Or even if you do want to._

"Everything is fine with us, if you'll let it be fine."

**The End …?**

This chapter didn't really end where I wanted it to, but oh well; it didn't do anything I didn't want it to either … So I guess that's a fair trade?


	10. City

Response to Ch9 in Seirios Aster's Little Lion Man, Lady Stardust; read that one first.

**City**

"_Here in these deep city lights, Girl could get lost tonight … I'm finding every reason to be gone – nothing here to hold on to … Could I hold you?_" ~ City by Sara Bareilles

Bartemius Crouch Jr. was so furious he couldn't see straight – much less think in a calm or coherent manner. He had just found something out that nearly made his blood boil with rage; and now, at least, he thought he understood why Regulus had been upset that he wasn't telling Slughorn about those three pricks and what they'd done to him.

A fucking _Cruciatus_? And they weren't even in _trouble_ for it?

Oh _hell_ no.

The blond wasn't even sure how he'd found out; he was doing research in the library because they had a potions paper due; and while sitting for extended periods of time was absolutely _killing_ most of the abused skeletal structure in his torso, he needed to get this paper written. And, as generous as Reg's offer had been to help (re: write it for him), Barty was determined to do it himself, unaided or abetted. Hence why he was in the back corner with a musty old book at a table behind a bookshelf attempting, not exactly research, but to actually figure out what in the bloody hell to _write _about.

Enter one of the three arseholes who'd tried to create a new facial structure for Barty without using a scalpel or anesthetics, who apparently didn't see the blond. To be fair, the sixth year Slytherin heard him before he saw him, and had the good sense to stay ducked down under the table because he had been picking up a piece of parchment that had fallen on the ground.

"Did you really? Oh man, what was it _like_?" that had been the first actual sentence Barty had heard and understood –and it only got worse from there. It was about all he could do to stay where he was and not just push a bookshelf over on them – but he likely did not have the upper body strength required to complete said task, and whoever he was with was probably innocent of an offense, so he might conceivably regret killing them. Though not really.

He listened in silence as the seventh year gloated about casting the unforgiveable without naming it – but Barty knew what he was talking about as well as the people he was bragging to did. He almost lost it when the gloating continued with how he wasn't even getting into trouble with it – this little fuck had had his first taste of 'blood', and apparently he had enjoyed it repercussion free.

Barty would have to remedy that.

He waited silently for them to finish their conversation, which was basically a dick wagging contest, and after they had walked off he sat up, wincing for a moment because his back was stiff from the awkward position he'd held for a while. Rubbing his back absently with one hand, he appeared to go back to studying, his other hand tucking underneath the page of the book on the table as if he were going to turn the page. But he wasn't going to turn the page; he wasn't even looking at the page. Oh sure; he was staring at it – or _past_ it, rather. He had settled into deep thought; once a Slytherin, always a Slytheirn. Those curses were called "unforgiveable" for a reason; and that reason wasn't so someone could use them and, far from learning a lesson, escape all reprimand.

No; this was a wrong that needed righting. But not this minute. No; that would be stupid; and Barty wasn't in the business of being stupid if he could help it. He'd never had a serious duel before; his sad lack of friends whose names were not Regulus Black, coupled with the fact that neither his father nor his mother practiced much magic at home besides of a practical means meant that he had never had occasion to be taught, or even try. And since that wasn't in his skill set, it would be foolish to attempt. So, direct confrontation was out; but that left a lot of options. However, he didn't want to be _too_ discreet; Barty wanted this idiot to know he was getting his ass handed to him by the blond sixth year … But if he knew who it was, it would have to be something so ruinous – so degrading – that he would never admit it had happened to anyone, so that Barty wouldn't get into trouble.

The blond mulled it over for the rest of the afternoon, absently flipping through the potions books that he'd gathered up to try and find a topic from – but he wasn't really paying them much mind. Something more important had come up – Reg had come up. He continued thinking about it through dinner, and after eventually choosing the _Alihotsy Draught_ as a topic for his potions essay. In fact, it was just about when he was getting in bed when suddenly, it hit him.

And the more he thought about it, the more excellent it was.

_Transfiguration isn't useful, huh dad? Ha … _and those were the last words he thought before he closed his eyes to sleep, content in the knowledge that revenge would be extracted to a satisfying degree, and the only ones who would know about it were the sixth and seventh year Slytherin involved …

* * *

"What's the matter? I thought it was fitting – I mean, you won't even brag about what you did to Regulus Black where Professors can hear you," the blonde said with a shrug, "so, it's not like you really had balls in the first place. Just thought I'd make that fact more … poignant."

"I swear Crouch, if you don't undo this _right now_, I'll—"

"You'll what? Go tell your friends that some sixth year got the drop on you and now you're a twat? Oh – excuse me; you _have _a twat." Barty resisted the urge to snicker; this was probably one of the best ideas he'd ever had. Ever. The seventh year raised his wand, but the sixth year Slytherin didn't even blink. In fact, he just shook his head with a sort of pity and disdain.

"Oh – good; hex me, hell _Crucio_ me. That's a great way to get me to change it back. I can't cast a spell if I'm writing in agony, genius. Can't cast one if I'm dead either –and you can't make me cast it if you don't know what to do. So that's zero for three on the unforgiveables mate – better luck next time." It was a pretty good thing that this kid was clearly a complete idiot, or no one had ever taught him to think outside the box. Because he could have just cast a Cruciatus on Barty and threatened to keep him like that until he agreed to transfigure his genitalia into the proper gender. However, because the blond listed the options the way he did, and likely because the seventh year was flipping out, he was at a loss for words.

Ah, silence. Sweet, crushing, unyielding _silence_. He knew there was no way he could win – he knew that Barty had him completely. Figuring out this Transfiguration hadn't been too hard actually; they had just started learning human transfiguration this year, sure, but Barty had a special knack for it. It had only taken him a few days and a good bit of practice – though he would _never_ admit how that practice came to pass out loud to anyone…

"Careful; don't get too worked up – wouldn't want you starting your monthlies early, now would we?" The blonde truly relished in the fact that he could see the transfigured student's pallor; but he had done what he'd come to do, and the longer he stayed, the more likely it was that the concept of mild (or extreme) torture would be discovered, and that wasn't something Barty wanted to stick around for. And so, with that comment, he went to leave the vacant room in the dungeons, intent on going to the Great Hall to see what was for breakfast.

"Where do you think you're going – you can't just leave –"

"Oh but I _can_," he said, turning around, voice low, and almost a growl. This might've looked like a cute prank outwardly, but in all actuality Bartemius Crouch Jr. was still _livid_. "And I _will_ – and there is nothing _you_ can do about it; at least not without going to McGonagall to untransfigure it, because I know your marks in Transfiguration are horrible – you and your idiot friends are pretty loud in the common room. But I'd bet ten galleons you won't bring this up with her, or Slughorn, or any of the other professors either."

"How does it feel, not being able to control something that's happening to your own body?" he nearly snarled, hand curling on the door jamb tensely. There was a lot more than what had happened here that he wanted to do , but he couldn't leave any marks, or add any more provocation to this encounter. "Just like there was nothing Regulus Black could do when you cast that unforgiveable curse you're so proud of on him. Only difference here is, there's no reason for me to go to Azkaban for what I did. This is mild compared to what you _should _be dealing with now – cold, stone walls, iron bars, and _Dementors_." Barty turned; he needed to leave now or he was going to start throwing hexes or _something_.

"Just remember that you're lucky every time you have to sit down to take a piss, and I'm sure you'll do fine," he added over his shoulder as he turned the corner and walked down the hall, feeling sadly unsatisfied by this turn of events, even though today had shaped up to be such a good day …

* * *

That had been his last day of peace for quite some time now. Not by any magical means; it just seemed like wherever he went, he had eyes following him – people whispering in the background. Looking at him. In some of the more audacious moments even _pointing_. And he couldn't for the life of him figure out why; for a long time he didn't even realize that it was worse when he was hanging around Regulus. But eventually, he started to notice that when he was eating with Reg, or sitting in the common room nearby, or trying not to blow something up in a cauldron, it became much more intense. And not just Slytherin either, though those were who he was around most often, so that was where he noticed it from the most at first.

The more he paid attention, however, the more he realized that actually … It was a pretty big portion of the school, comparatively speaking. Not _everyone_ looked at him and Reg sideways, but probably 65 percent of the population – which was a good deal of them. The majority of those who were spared were the younger aged ones, but even some of them Barty caught gawking at him from time to time, like he was some twisted celebrity or something. It was horribly uncomfortable, and he was sure it was bugging Reg too.

And really, Barty didn't know what the deal was; it wasn't like they were caught snogging in the dormitories or anything, (1) so why all of the sly looks? It didn't make any bleeding sense to Barty, at the very least that other _houses _were clearly in on whatever rumor this was. Had to be a pretty big deal if people all over the school were talking about it….

"Er, Black? Why are you laughing like that?" Evan asked from across the room; it was a rather unremarkable day, all things considered – but for some reason Regulus had come into the room, sat down on his bed, and started laughing without explanation. Barty had to admit, it did sound a little creepy, especially if you didn't know he was prone to mostly thinking, and only carrying on part of conversations, or reactions to them, out loud. "Uh, anyway, Black, I just wanted to tell you that it wasn't me. It was those two blokes—"

No. Fucking. Way.

* * *

"What's the matter, Crouch?" the laughing taunt made Barty's fingers curl in a fist. "Can't take it; only fit to dish it out then?" This was …

"Poor ickle poof has his panties in a bunch?" In a word, this was outright fucking _war_. He had come to talk to that arsehole, but seems he doesn't go anywhere without his little grunts anymore – and the blond had been trying to do the civil thing and keep this quiet. That was the last time he tried to do a fellow Slytherin that wasn't Regulus any favors.

"You want to see a spectacle? As your mate there to pull up his robes; I _guarantee_ you that you'll be surprised," Barty said in a growl. "And I'm sure the rest of the student body will be surprised too…" He ignored the awkward, nervous laugh that was a response to his thinly veiled threat, turning to leave the room; he was done here.

"Wait – what's he mean …?" was the last thing he heard before he started down the hallway. Damage was already done as far as Reg"s reputation was concerned but at least Barty could take this sod down with him As for Reg well he would just have to stay away from his friend for the time being; besides, he was sure the student body would be _far_ more interested in the fact that one of their fellow class mates had had a freak sex change than someone's sexuality...

* * *

Over the next few days there was a _new_, much more entertaining rumor spreading around … And this time, it was a rumor that could be backed up with fact. Barty didn't even _care _if McGoogles found out about it and reversed his handiwork – he wouldn't get into trouble anyway. That seventh year might have been stupid, but he wasn't _that_ dumb; Bartemius Crouch Jr. was a Slytherin. If he got into trouble for this, he'd only come back with something worse – and the most powerful deterrent was one's own imagination.

The blond wasn't even sure he could come up with much worse without the possibility of serious repercussion, but that was alright. He didn't have to. The now-female seventh year would likely come up with plenty of less than savory fates for himself, and that would keep him from spilling who had done it. Not to mention his reputation – what would it look like if he not only was beaten up by Regulus Black, a sixth year, but also had this happen, once again courtesy of a sixth year?

Nope; Barty had nothing to worry about in that department.

What he did have to worry about now, was Regulus.

He'd gotten his friend into this mess; he figured the more time he spent away from Reg, the more likely it was that people would forget what had been said about the two of them, whatever that had been. And so, he'd taken to sort of avoiding his friend unless being around him was absolutely necessary, such as double potions that morning, in which they were lab partners. It probably hadn't been wise not to explain to Reg what he was doing, but he didn't necessarily want his friend to make the connection that their unfortunate seventh year friend's fate had been of his doing.

The temptation to mention the fact to someone would've been too much – hell, _he_ had been tempted to brag about it, because the more he thought about it, the more proud of that little feat he was. Even most _seventh_ years probably couldn't have pulled that off – not without at least getting more information from McGoogles and the like. Barty had nearly come up with it on his own – sure, he'd used a few of the things they'd learned in class, but he'd had to modify them substantially to come up with something that worked convincingly.

Especially because that thing about the monthlies?

Yeah – that _hadn't _been a bluff.

As it was though, it was likely that Regulus thought that Barty was avoiding him because he was mad at him – so he'd made an effort to at least smile if he caught Reg's eye, or otherwise acknowledge him in a friendly manner, so that at least his friend, hopefully, wouldn'tve decided that he was the scourge of the earth, and he needed to go drown himself or something …

Again, hopefully …

**The End ..?**

Sorry there were so many timeskips in this chapter – I hope it wasn't too confusing …

1 – I reserve the right to say he didn't know that Evan was there during that incident … He was busy trying to hobble downstairs without death ensuing … xD


	11. Gravity

Sequel to the tenth chapter of Seirios Aster's fic, Little Lion Man, titled People are Strange. Go read it. Mmyes.

**Gravity**

"_Something always brings me back to you … It never takes too long … No matter what I say or do, I still feel you here – 'till the moment I'm gone …_" ~ Gravity by Sara Bareilles

Barty was assured in the mutual destruction of his house mate, as well as his own, reputation. The problem was Reg … It had been quite a few days since the new rumors had started, and Barty's intent had been pretty much nullified; sure, it had lessened the attention that Regulus and he were receiving, but it hadn't completely eliminated it. Which had been his original goal.

It wasn't helping that apparently anyone who associated with Regulus was tagged as a social pariah; Barty didn't really have that problem because he didn't really have _friends_ outside of Regulus. And his acquaintances were just a little more distant than usual – not much of a shocker there really. However, this also meant that socially, it didn't really affect Barty much, except for the once in a while annoyance of people pointing and whispering in his general direction.

Regulus, on the other hand … Not that he was a social butterfly like his brother, but he did get along with most people, and he liked being around people, and generally they enjoyed his presence as well. Usually that made for a decent relationship that someone could comfortably deem "friendship" – and the youngest son of the house of Black had a few of those "friendships", even outside of his own house. Surely a noteworthy feat with the trained prejudices students from each house held for the other three.

All that said, coupled with the fact that he was painfully loyal to his friends, as previously mentioned, to an absolute fault, and add all of that to Reg's perpetual emotional delicacy, and … Well, Barty was relatively confident that the brunet was having a hard time of this whole development. Which was, of course, entirely Barty's fault – even discounting the fact that he didn't know what was going to happen when he'd gone and transfigured that seventh year, the simple fact that he had these _feelings_, which is why this whole mess started in the first place …

It was the third night in a row that Bartemius Crouch Jr. had been unable to sleep due to his intense guilt – for about a million things. He had walked in on Regulus Black upset enough that he had been _crying_; which he had to admit wasn't an extremely rare occurrence, but it hadn't been the fact that he had been crying so much as the fact as the type of crying … That broken, upset, scared-as-hell _helpless_ crying that he almost never heard from his friend. In fact he was pretty sure he'd only ever heard it once the entire time he'd known Reg.

And he'd done nothing.

Barty had seen what looked like a distraught Regulus Black rush through the Common Room on Wednesday afternoon, and for a moment, he'd managed to sit there and not react at all to his rushing through to the other side … However, his resolve had broken in a spectacularly record speed, and he had followed him almost immediately afterward, closing his book and heading for the stairs just after everyone went back to what they were doing. He'd gotten to the door of the dormitory, heard what he knew to be his best friend, and pressed his back against the wall outside if the door.

Barty wanted to know what happened; he did. And he wanted to comfort his friend most definitely … But he knew that if he went in there … First of all, he'd find out what happened, and as per usual he'd probably want to destroy someone's life – depending on how major the offense was, which may have been pretty bad considering recent events, he wouldn't be able to help doing something about it. And secondly … He was still trying to stay as far away from Reg as he could unless it was absolutely necessary that he be around him, because he was still hoping that people would drop their idiot musings about Reg if they weren't seen together.

So, after standing there and debating for what felt like a very long time, Barty eventually let out a slow breath, stood up straight, and started back downstairs. Just in time to see that asshole and his friends come into the common room and everyone stop and stare at the seventh year. After an awkward pause, he went to walk past Barty, who was standing on the stairs, and just as he got to the blonde, someone in the common room said directly to him,

"Oi – shouldn't you be heading up the other set of stairs?" Then another pause, in which the seventh year stopped in his tracks for just a moment, before the entire common room burst into quiet, snickering laughter. For the most part; some people didn't care and started whole heartedly laughing out loud. Barty tried to school his expression into the most neutral one he could manage, but he couldn't help the small smirk that managed to show up on his face – he was pretty sure it went unnoticed however, because he was just brushed past and the three of them went upstairs.

"Why don't you go with them Crouch? Might make for an interesting time."

"Because he's not into him anymore, idiot. Leastwise not if he's got a cunt."

Hearing that exchange, though it was difficult to pick up through all of the other sounds in the common room, most of which were still the remnants of scoffs and laughter, Barty felt his hands curl at his sides, very annoyed at the suggestion. It wasn't like he was into everything that had a dick just because he was gay – just like not every straight guy was interested in anything with a pussy. You know what, that was probably not the best example ever, since a lot of guys in fact _were_ interested in everything that had tits and two holes between their legs.

Frustrated at his housemates, frustrated at himself for leaving Reg alone, frustrated in _general_, he stalked out of the dormitory to seek solitude in the library. The potions paper he had gotten an extension on wasn't going to write itself …

That had been three nights ago. And tonight, just like all of those nights, Barty was having a horrible time attempting to sleep; he had gone to Madame Pomfrey once the day before to get something for the pain his headache was causing him. However, he had purposely avoided going to see her more than that, because and he wouldn't end up getting anything besides a bigger headache, because she wouldn't give him anything more for killing pain until she had owled home to his parents in order to tell them what was going on with their son. Something he had expressly asked her not to do, and he would not be rescinding that request any time soon.

"Nnnnngg …" he groaned quietly, turning onto his side and sluggishly covering his head with his pillow the cool underside of the case felt good against his throbbing temples; he knew it would only remain that way for a few seconds before it became the temperature of his skin, but for the moment he was alright. It wasn't Barty's fault he couldn't sleep – it was his _brain's_ fault for not being able to wind down and stop _thinking_ …

_Well, actually, it probably __**is**__ my fault, seeing as I wouldn't feel like a complete __**tit**__ if I would be an actual friend instead of being concerned about what people __**think**__ of you and your friend … _the blond's hands came up and he let them fall onto the pillow, sort of hitting himself in the head by proxy because god he wished he could just _stop_ thinking for five fucking seconds …

Hmmm. That was the sound of someone's alarm going off. Forcing one hazel eye open, he looked out from underneath the pillow that he still had over his head, and realized that the light had marginally brightened in the dungeons. That meant that it was morning. When had that happened? Barty sighed as he covered his head again, seriously considering skipping Transfiguration that morning in the vain hope that he would be exhausted enough to pass out cold for a few hours …

Unfortunately, as appealing as that plan sounded, he knew that it was sadly extremely unlikely that he was going to actually manage to fall into unconsciousness, so there was really little to no point in missing class. At least he could not pay attention and he'd still be able to answer questions if McGoogles decided to be cruel and call on the boy that looked as though he hadn't slept in half a week. Which he basically hadn't.

Curling up under the sheets, he half feigned sleep, half allowed his thoughts to wander, since they'd do that anyway, and waited for the sounds of his dorm mates to dissipate. His curtains were drawn around his bed, so he was pretty comfortable in his assurance that no one would bother with him while they all ambled about and collected themselves up before heading down to breakfast and then to class.

And of course, among those dorm mates, was one Regulus Black (yeah, like we were going to stop mentioning him), whom Barty, again could tell by how he stumbled around in the morning and eventually managed to stagger out of the door and into the common room. The blond was particularly occupied with making sure that Reg had made his way out of the dormitory before eventually, he succumbed to the inevitable and dragged himself up, nearly falling onto the floor before devising himself of his pajama shirt and searching for something clean in his trunk to wear along with his robes.

Stretching, arms pushed out to the sides and behind him, he turned slightly, unclenching his eyes and becoming slightly disoriented and momentarily dizzy. Blinking for a moment, he realized that there was a familiar form standing at the threshold to the dormitory, though it took a few moments for his vision to completely unblur. By then, whoever was standing there had fled the scene, but …

"Reg …?" Barty blinked; maybe he'd hallucinated that. It wasn't completely unlikely considering that state of his head, and he brushed it off a moment later, dragging a shirt over his head because he was too lazy to unbutton it. Picking up a tie, as that was customary dress, he tucked it under the collar and let the ends hang as he moved to take off his pajama pants and boxers, replacing them and pulling on his robes … Before sighing and collapsing face first on his bed, letting out a pathetic half whine half groan a moment later. He just wanted to sleeeeeeep …

* * *

Sweat.

Heat.

Panting.

A name; quiet on sleeping lips – the barest of whispers. The movement of the skin was slow and languid – barely there at all … Unlike the desperate fantasy that played out behind his closed eyes; the movements took his breath away, his heart raced – the noises in this dreamscape echoed and arched; writhed through the air around the bodies that mimicked the sounds. The sounds that danced only for the two of them, hidden in the black, a white-hot crouch against the sheets …

"_Nnnng … R-Re—"_

Muddied hazel-green eyes snapped open, and a sharp intake of breath heralded his waking. Laying where he was, the teenager panted, too-long bangs that his mother would have cut in a heartbeat had he been home matted against his cheeks and face … It was a long stretch of time, staring blankly at the blankets, before he realized where he was exactly. Suffocating faced-down on the green comforter that covered his bed.

"… Fuck …" was all he managed to get out in a harsh, muffled whisper, not bothering to turn his head to the side. And just then, he had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu …

"FUCK." The exclamation would have been closer to a yell if it weren't for the fact that his face was pressed against the bed – honestly in retrospect he wouldn't be sure exactly how he had been breathing, but he didn't care.

After everything that had happened in the month or so that had passed since the last time he'd had that dream … After the rollercoaster ride of reputations and anxieties – of him and Reg both having their lives threatened, among other things, spending all that time in the infirmary … It all came back to this, didn't it? Even all _that_ couldn't deter his _fucking_ dick.

"Goddammit Reg," he muttered into the mattress, knowing that it was likely he had missed both Transfiguration and Charms that day. _Oh yes; because this is all __**his**__ fault … _he mentally berated himself, still not bothering to turn his head to the side. It was actually becoming difficult to breathe, however, so he would need to do something about that soon. Or not – he could probably just lay there face down long enough to suffocate himself to death. Would probably solve most of the problems in the world – or at least all of the problems concerning him.

Slowly, Barty Crouch Jr rolled onto his back with a noise, now staring up at the top of the canopy that covered is bed. Oh Merlin; his legs were so stiff … He had fallen asleep with his legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and his knees were flat, so they had been sticking out near straight in the air. Whining in the back of his throat, he bent his knees and rubbed at his calves, what there was of a muscle there burning unpleasantly.

Eyes closing, he rubbed at his forehead lightly, which had started that dull throb again; it wasn't as bad as it had been when he'd dragged himself out of bed that morning, but clearly he hadn't gotten enough sleep to completely get rid of this headache.

_Sweat._

_Heat._

_Panting …_

"Dammit," he cursed, eyes opening to get rid of the image that had suddenly reiterated itself in his mind's eye. Letting out a breath, he got up unsteadily, knowing that he couldn't lay in bed any more or else it was just going to get worse. However, walking proved to also be a chore, because of certain other … troubles … But that didn't matter to him at the moment; he just needed to stop laying down and letting his mind wander.

He just needed to get Reg out of his head; easier said than done. Got worse when he wasn't around the brunet for a while – he tended to get preoccupied with whether or not Regulus was mad at him, what he was doing, how he felt …

You know, extremely obsessive, lovesick-puppy thoughts. Yeah. He had those. A lot.

And then of course there was his body going through withdrawal, which didn't even make any _sense_ because it wasn't like they ever came into any kind of physical contact when they were around each other any way …

These, and many other frustrating thoughts were heading through his mind as he skulked around the castle grounds, avoiding most classroom windows for fear that McGoogles or Flitwick would look out of them and see him, and say something about his absence that day in their class. He'd have to ask someone what the work was, but that wasn't even occurring to him at the moment; he was mostly trying not to think about anything at all. Which eventually found him sitting on the shore of the lake, staring at the water that was reflecting the overcast sky.

_Same color as Reg's eyes _… the thought occurred to him before he realized he'd had it, and it almost slipped away before he noticed it. But he did, and that made him put his elbows on his knees, digging his fingers into his stringy blond hair, so frustrated with himself that he couldn't even _be _frustrated right now. It had just settled into a sort of helpless depression.

He didn't know what to do; about anything. He'd managed, in about a month, to completely ruin not only his own life, but likely Regulus' as well, and now in order to fix it, he was avoiding the only friend he had in this entire bloody school because he thought that maybe possibly there was a _chance_ that might fix things for him. Barty was entirely buggered – but he knew that already; he didn't have a strong presence to most other students, so there wasn't any reason why they would _not_ believe the rumor about him – however, he was basically a nobody from a pureblood house that had little prestige, so it would blow over by next year, and people would go back to basically congenially ignoring him, more likely than not. Which suited the blond just fine.

Reg, though …

He was a lot more in the eye of the student body; he had friends, or at least he _had_ had friends, until Barty had fucked everything up … He was also from the Moste Noble and Ancient House of Black. That made him one of the more well-known people in the school simply by proxy. However, because people knew him more than they did, they knew that he had a sort of reputation for chasing red-headed skirts. And by chasing that really meant not being able to do much in the department of thinking when there was an attractive red haired girl in his presence, even though he'd never actually gone _out _with anyone, male or female … There was a chance that this could blow over as well. A chance. And the blond just didn't want to fuck that up – he was trying to do what he thought was right.

Though at this point he was starting to think he was just being an idiot, and he had just managed to destroy the entire universe irreparably with his dick.

Yeah; he needed to sleep. Or something.

Clearly sense-making wasn't on his list of priorities.

**The End …?**

This chapter, for some reason, was SO hard to write … GAAHHHHH


	12. One Sweet Love

Final chapter, following Serios Aster's "Castle's Made of Sand" in her Little Lion Man fic. Check Little Lion Man for the epilogue! Happy reading!

**One Sweet Love**

"_Sleepless nights you creep inside of me – paint your shadows on the breath that we share … You take more than just my sanity; you take my reason not to care …_" ~Sara Bareilles, One Sweet Love

"Barty?" the voice startled him; he had been somewhere between deep in thought and staring off into space and not thinking about anything at all. The hand on his shoulder was more what caught his attention; the voice his mind alerted him to after the fact. Turning around to see who was talking to him, though he already knew who it was because it wasn't like anyone _else_ spoke to him, especially lately with all those fucking rumors …

"Oh; hey Reg," he said sort of neutrally, still not completely back from his mental trip to outer space. Blinking a few times, he let out a breath, pushing a few strands of blond hair out of his face. He knew he couldn't just make up an excuse to leave; Reg sort of caught him. Barty wasn't in the business of upsetting Regulus if he could help it, but at the same time … Hazel eyes glanced around cautiously; the last thing he wanted was for them to be seen together, even in such an innocent and meaningless place as the lake …

"I fucking hate this place," Reg commented as he sat down next to his fellow Slytherin, and Barty's eyes narrowed a little nervously as he looked at his friend. He didn't say anything; just waited for Regulus to explain the statement. "It's not the rumors, and hell – it's not classes. I don't even know what it is, but this is …" he trailed off for a moment, almost seeming frustrated with his inarticulate thoughts before he finally finished with, "I don't even know."

"This certainly hasn't helped," Barty responded in a slightly dead tone, eyes wandering back out over the gray water of the lake so that he didn't have to look at his friend and consider the color of Reg's eyes, which were evidently the same color as the lake and the sky … It was almost like he couldn't escape his friend, no matter how he tried – he always saw something or thought of something that made him think of the boy. It was horribly frustrating more often than not when he was trying to avoid Reg – which admittedly was not often.

"Look, Barty – I know you've been avoiding me because of the rumors. I appreciate the thought, but," Regulus was saying this all in a bit of a rush, and Barty knew that it was because he wanted to get whatever he was saying out before the blond interrupted him or told him that they needed to separate. "I don't care anymore. It's not like I … I can't deal with this alone, Barty. I can't – you're my best friend."

The blond sixth year smiled sadly, shaking his head a little. "I was worried that you had freaked out …" was his only comment; he had tried to reassure Regulus when he'd seen the boy across the room or something by smiling in his direction, or trying to give him some other sort of non-verbal cue that he wasn't angry at him …

"Barty … I … I've been thinking." _Oh boy; here we go … This is always dangerous _… he thought to himself as he sent a sideways glance at his friend to let Reg know that he was paying attention, even though his head was killing him and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed for the rest of forever. "I know you told me to forget it but, Barty – I can't. I really can't – I wish I could, but I don't want to."

_What do you mean you don't want to …? You just said you wish you could forget it, but you don't want to … _Barty blinked at the contradiction in Regulus' sentence, knowing full well that it wouldn't be kind ot point it out to him, as he probably didn't actually realize what he was saying, and Barty knew what he was on about anyway. "I mean, for fuck's sake Barty! If we're going to be fucking ostracized, why the hell don't we—" Yeah … Clearly Regulus was just talking, and had either removed the filter between his brain and mouth for cleaning, or had just destroyed it entirely by trying to cram too many ridiculous things through it. There was a pause, as he seemed to realize what he had just insinuated, and then, in a much quieter voice, he added, "I'm not imagining things … I'm not …"

"Reg, what are you saying …?" he said in a slightly exasperated tone; he was sure at this point that his friend had just convinced himself that he liked his best friend back, even though there were copious amounts of evidence in the contrary. "What brought this on?"

"I don't know," "I just … I don't know Barty. I feel something – I do. And I'm not … I might not know exactly what I feel, but I _do_ feel something, Barty! I tried to forget and … God, I just want this to be over. I can't take it! … I don't want to prove them wrong." Swallowing slightly, hazel eyes stared at Regulus Arcturus Black for what he just said. The blond, after he managed to collect himself, shook his head a little, shutting his eyes and turning away from the dark haired boy.

"Reg; you're just … confused. And upset," he said after a while quietly, voice just a touch hoarse. Reaching up, he gently rubbed at his own temples, attempting to assuage the pounding that he was finding there, "and, someone's going to see us if we stay here – I should go—"

"Dammit Barty, have you listened to a _word_ I've said?" Reg cut him off and the blond paused, looking over at him, clearly surprised. He didn't even have the energy to get defensive or snap back at the pale boy – he just looked at his friend for a long time, and had the sudden indescribable urge to cry. As he was _not_ a Nancy, he wasn't going to; but suddenly his throat was tight, and he could feel that weird, tell-tale pressure behind his eyes.

"Yes Reg," he started, voice wavering a little. He paused a moment to gather himself a little before he continued. "Yes – I always listen to _everything_ you say, even if you're just babbling like a goddamned idiot because you don't like it when it's quiet. And I _remember_ what you say too – remember second year, in the winter when we were up in the tower at god only knows what hour finishing those stupid charts because we'd been playing exploding snap and lost track of time? When you made that comment about your family naming everyone after ruddy stars and you and your brother's names, and then you realized what you'd said, and you were so glad because you thought I wasn't listening? Well Reg, I was. You said, 'I've always liked my brother's name better than mine, but come on – he's named after a dog. I guess Regulus is a good constellation prize, huh?' One of the dumbest lines you've ever uttered, but four years later and I _still_ know … I still _care_ enough about what you say to know, even if it's just stupid shit."

The entire time he spoke, he looked away from his friend, not daring to try and meet Reg's eyes; he absently wondered if that would get through to him how long he had been completely smitten with his best friend, but he doubted it. His voice was even for the most part as he spoke, never raising or really lowering, though he was very quiet as he said it – he wasn't even sure he wanted his friend to know the depths of his devotion to him; honestly, sometimes it scared _him_ when he thought about how there would be no decision for him to make if it came down between his life and Regulus' … Or even just his life and Regulus' happiness …

"So I guess just … Don't bother asking me if I'm listening to you," he finished with a small laugh that sounded hollow. "It's a stupid question." His friend seemed shocked for a moment, probably because he never expected that very level answer, and especially not with that example as a response. Taking this opportunity as it presented itself, he stood, dusting his pants off absently, though there was likely no need; they were sitting in the grass, far enough away from the water of the lake that there was no exposed dirt or sand.

"Barty, wait," his friend almost sounded like he was pleading, and the blond braced himself; he hated the idea of making his best friend cry, but he even more hated the idea of making his best friend miserable for the rest of his existence.

"Reg, I _can't_," he said, his own tone just as pleading – pleading with his friend to be strong, to try and endure without him, even if he thought he couldn't. "I don't want … to hurt you more than I already have … I don't want to give anyone anymore reason to think we're some kind of item …" There; he'd admitted it – and his friend was at a loss for words. Excellent. Turning and sighing, secure in the knowledge that he'd most likely ruined the only real close friendship he'd ever had in his life, he paused when he heard Regulus say,

"Hold on; you don't want to be seen together …" it was almost as if Regulus was puzzling something out. And, just as Barty was about to keep walking, Reg continued, "I know where we can go!" the blond Slytherin blinked, confused – but before he could manage to ask any questions, he was being dragged away from the Lake and into Hogwarts Castle …

"Reg, where the hell are we going …?" Barty asked, breath coming in quick pants as he tried to keep up with the Slytherin Seeker as he was dragged up stairs and around corners, down corridors … The only time he was able to rest were the few moments it took for staircases to move when they did it, which was only twice on this journey. He was in no way physically inclined, and while he was skinny, he had never really engaged in strenuous physical activity for an extended period of time, so this jolly romp was probably going to kill him. Or at least it felt that way.

"Nearly there … It's on this corridor and should be …" he searched for a moment, or at least appeared to, and eventually his face lit a little, and he walked purposefully over to a rather hideous tapestry of someone, Barty hadn't the foggiest idea who, and some strangely attired trolls … Staring at it in something between abject horror and strange fascination at it, he didn't notice at first that Reg had promptly turned on his heel and begun pacing back and forth in front of the wall on the other side of the corridor, eyes closed and apparently very intently focusing on … Something.

"Reg, mate? … … Are you alright?" the blond asked, concerned for a moment by his friend's strange behavior, not exactly sure what to make of it. The youngest son of the Moste Noble and Ancient House of Black didn't respond, and the other sixth year just watched him, head cocking to the side, unsure of what to make of this strange display. However, when Regulus stopped pacing and turned to face the wall,, Barty paused … Was that door always there? Had he just not noticed it before …?

Regulus, however, did not seem surprised by the door, which made him think that he just hadn't seen it; he just calmly went over to it and opened it, turning to look at Barty with an expression that said something along the lines of, 'well, are you coming?'_ … … Oh what the hell _… he thought with a mental shrug as he went inside the room, hearing Regulus enter behind him a moment later, closing the door behind him.

This was a room Barty had never been in before, though that wasn't what was strange about it – there were lots of rooms the blond hadn't been in inside of Hogwarts. The place was huge. But this … Well, it was very dark, and it _sort of_ looked like the dormitory, in so far as there was a familiar canopied, green dressed bed in the middle. He couldn't really see much else, because the candles that were lighting the room managed to only really light that much up – well, that and the small nightstand table that stood next to it, which had a blue glass bottle sitting on it that looked oddly familiar to Barty.

"Well, I guess I asked for someplace comfy to sit so we could talk …" he heard Regulus mutter to himself as he touched the blankets on the bed, before pulling himself up onto it and looking over at Barty, who still didn't know what to make of this room.

"Reg … what's going on …?" he asked cautiously, stepping towards the little table and picking up the bottle on top of it, "and why is one of Madame Pomfrey's strongest painkilling draughts here …? This is one of the ones she fed me when I was in the Infirmary for a week …" (1)

"Huh? Well, you have a headache, right …?" Reg said in that oddly sly tone of voice that said he wasn't telling Barty the whole of something. Hazel eyes lit on gray, and he waited for the rest of the response. "And, it didn't come from the Infirmary, if that makes you feel any better … There's probably only one dose in it anyway …" Frowning slightly, Barty checked the bottle, holding it up to his ear and lightly shaking it a few times. True to his word, there was only about a mouthful in there, which was enough to get rid of the pounding in his temples without him accidentally overdosing and killing himself with it.

Hesitantly, he smelled the contents of bottle through the mouth; yep – same bitter smell, and he was sure it would be the same horribly bitter taste. Pausing just another few seconds, he put it to his lips and tossed it back, attempting to avoid his tongue with it and make most of it hit the back of his throat, which was really not very successful … But then, it never was, or so he concluded as he felt the slimy stuff ooze down his throat and he winced accordingly.

"Gah … Well it sure as hell _tastes_ like it came from the Infirmary …" Barty's whole body did a sort of disgusted shiver in response to the horrible tasting stuff. It never ceased to make him want to gag with how thick and … viscous … the stuff was. "Did you brew this? And, what is this place?" he asked, turning slightly and gesturing into the rather atmospheric darkness that was surrounding them. Regulus shook his head in response to the first inquiry, and then said,

"It's this place that one of the elves in the kitchens told me about when I was grabbing some food and trying to find a place to study for that huge Potions exam we had a couple months back – remember I was desperate to find a quiet place to study?" Barty nodded; he on the other hand knew he was going to fail, so he didn't even try to practice brewing anything, lest he turn himself into some sort of toad and _completely_ missed the whole test. "Well, this place … It will only appear when someone _really _needs it, and it gives you exactly what you need; you just walk back and forth three times in front of where the door is supposed to be, and think about what you need …. I was totally skeptical until I came here and did it and when the door appeared, it was a room stocked with all of the ingredients and supplies I needed to try brewing everything we'd learned up until that point as many times as I wanted …"

Bartemius Crouch Jr. just stared at his friend.

"And I figured," Regulus continued, an almost nervous tone seeping into his voice, "that we need someplace to talk, that no one can see us or hear us, and that no one can just walk into if they like. With some where comfortable to sit so we can talk, and some painkillers for you to get rid of your headache …" Glancing around the room, he blinked a few times … for some reason, this just felt … like it had an oddly romantic atmosphere, what with the candles and all – though he didn't make a comment about that. If the room was somehow reacting to Regulus' thoughts, conscious or subconscious, well, the dark haired Slytherin seemed to have convinced himself that he held a reciprocal torch for the blond, so …

"Ok Reg," Barty sighed, pulling himself up on the admirably squishy and comfortable bed, "let's talk." And with that, he proceeded to remain completely silent and look at Regulus Black pointedly, clearly expecting him to initiate the conversation. Which made him get awkward pretty quickly and squirm a bit, which was what Barty had figured would happen.

"Well, I … I just …" he seemed to be at a loss for words, reaching up and nervously rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts. "I already told you; I feel _something_ for you; I just—"

"Reg; we're best friends. If you didn't feel _something_ for me, I'd be shocked and confused," Barty interrupted in a bit of a deadpan, raising an eyebrow at Regulus, who shot him a look.

"I know _that_," he said in a slightly testy voice, "but that's not what I mean. I mean … I dunno what I mean. Just – look, Barty; all I'm saying is that … Well, do they _have_ to be wrong …? … The rumors, I mean? … We _did_ kiss, you know …" Barty bit back a sigh, not wanting to frustrate his friend more than he already had, but knowing that he needed to prove to Regulus that he wasn't interested in Barty.

"No Reg – you kissed me," the blond said, a hint of a tease in his voice, "I didn't have much say in the matter." He held a hand up to interrupt whatever Reg started to say to defend himself; it was his turn to talk now. "And it was a spur of the moment thing because you found out I have a flame for you; I get that part. But really …" the sixth year Slytherin sighed quietly, bringing a hand to tangle in his hair in a slightly nervous gesture, tugging at it lightly, trying to come up with a way to show Regulus that he wasn't _actually_ attracted to him … …

Well, there was _that_, he supposed …

"Alright, let's try this," he said after a moment's pause, and his change of attitude seemed to disorient Regulus for a moment. Moving closer to his best friend, he raised a hand, brushing a few strands of hair out of Reg's face and tucking them behind his ear.

"You tell me if you feel anything, alright …? Or if this just seems silly to you," Barty said as he leaned forward, voice quiet. It seemed like Regulus was a little nervous, but the blond ignored that as he gently kissed the brunet's cheek. Just once … Then once more; a few soft little kisses on his cheek, and down his jaw a little – Barty was figuring that Regulus was going to tell him that it tickled at best, and at worst that it was just strange to him, but … What he didn't count on was no response at all. After a moment, he paused, glancing up at Reg.

The darker haired Slytherin had his eyes closed, and he was holding still, though not entirely rigid, and was breathing evenly; after Barty had ceased his actions for a moment, he opened one eye to look at the blond, and then said, "No; keep … Keep going … I don't know … what it feels like yet …"

Hazel eyes narrowed slightly in confusion; not the response he had figured he'd receive … But he did as asked, trying not to do anything other than just quiet little kisses, mostly on Reg's face, but some down further, beneath his ear, across his neck … It was around then that he realized Regulus was shivering. Blinking, Barty started to ask, "Reg? Are you—"

"D … don't stop … Not yet … It … It feels … ok …" he said, voice a little shaky, and tone a little distracted. There was another pause before he started to kiss again, hazel eyes flickering up to Reg's face so he could watch for a change in expression. Slowly, he pressed his lips against his friend's warm skin, trying to focus on how Regulus was reacting … Instead of just focusing on Regulus in general; because that was a sure-fire way for him to ruin everything with his dick again, which he was getting decently proficient at. Reaching up, he lightly played with a few strands of the brunet's hair on the other side of Reg's face before lightly tangling his fingers in it, slow, warm kisses still playing against his pale skin.

"You can … kiss me … if you want …" Regulus said uncertainly and Barty paused for a second, letting out a sort of shaky breath; he was failing at not paying attention to how close he actually was to his friend; he was so close he could hear Reg breathing, shaky little sounds … Swallowing a little, he sat up a bit more and bit his lip lightly.

"I … … Reg, are you sure …?" there was a slightly jerky nod and one gray eye opened again to look at him … A bit of hesitation later, and he leaned up, softly brushing his lips against the brunet's , breathing unsteady and head a little light as he felt the pressure of his friend's slightly chapped skin against his … Barty couldn't help the small noise he made, something like a whine, as he pushed his lips more firmly against Regulus' … The noise turned into one of surprise when the other sixth year Slytherin put his arms around Barty's neck clumsily and clung to him gently; a pretty good indication that he didn't want Barty to back off or stop any time in the near future.

Reaching up, he lightly started to run his fingers through Regulus' semi-long hair, gently petting him; almost trying to calm him – he was pretty tense, pushed up against the blond, almost like he was afraid of something. Or just extremely nervous; a more plausible idea. Eventually, Barty pulled back from the brunet's pale lips, breath coming out in sharp little hitched pants; Reg's did the same.

"Hey …" he murmured quietly, laughing a little breathily, "it's ok … calm down, Reg …" Glancing at his friend's slightly flushed face, and nervous expression, he made a decision and started to coax Regulus into laying down, thinking it would make him more comfortable, and less on edge as he laid down as well next to his friend. They had taken up this same positioning before, when they wanted to talk and have a bit of privacy with the curtains closed around one of their beds … but it had never been in this context before, so it was strangely familiar and foreign to Barty at the same time.

At this point, he just started lightly running his fingers through the other's dark hair, mostly trying to soothe him a little; he seemed pretty uptight about this, most likely because it was a completely new thing to him – it was to Barty as well, but thanks to his subconscious, the scenario wasn't unthinkable, or even that uncommon to him, so he had a little bit of a leg up on Regulus in that respect. Leaning down to kiss Reg's temple, he surprised Barty again when he leaned up for a second kiss, this one more chaste, and a bit more shy, since the brunet was initiating it this time, and it wasn't almost completely random.

Another noise from the blond; Barty wanted to hit himself for that desperate little sound, but he couldn't stop it … Reg was kissing him; not in one of his stupid dreams – in real life. For real. The thought made him tremble slightly, and he couldn't help pushing his body up against his best friend's, shivering at how warm he felt, even through their robes.

"Reg …" he whispered when he turned his face to the side slightly, lungs burning and in desperate need of air. Panting, he could feel the youngest Black's breath on his face, mingling with his own … Then he realized all at once that he felt too warm. Reaching up with an almost fidgety hand, he tugged on the buttons that were keeping his white shirt closed, undoing two of them and pushing the black fabric of his robe out of the way a little. The movement seemed to catch Regulus' attention, because he hesitated for a moment before reaching down with hands that Barty could see were shaky and fumbling with the rest of the buttons.

"Ahhh … R-Reg …" the blond whimpered, not expecting the quick, uncertain kisses against his throat and neck that were suddenly being administered. He swallowed thickly, attempting to keep his mind under control, but everything was starting to get much warmer; he wasn't sure how long he could handle these teasing little touches that weren't meant to be teasing … Gently, he stroked the back of his friend's neck in a way that was supposed to come off as encouraging, but that was only because he needed _something_ to focus on that wasn't Regulus Black's lips …

Tilting his head back, he didn't do anything except make a pleased noise when he felt the black haired Slytherin's lips move lower, down to his collar bone, over his skin … A fluttery little breath escaped him, and the hand that was not playing with Reg's hair came up to his forehead, and he lightly pressed it there, breaths becoming a little more tense and sharp as his body started to get warmer … And, as much as he didn't want to discourage Regulus' exploration, he _did_ want to do his own examining of the Slytherin seeker, so … Gently, he pushed the black haired teenager back a little, fingers moving down to undo a few of the buttons on Reg's shirt after he undid the green and silver tie that was holding the collar rigidly in place. There was something that might've sounded like a vague protest maybe, but he ignored it entirely as he pushed the brunet's robe off of his shoulder and started to carefully undo the buttons of his friend's shirt.

"Uh; Barty – I … Ahh!" the end of the sentence was basically forgotten when Bartimeus Crouch Jr. ran his fingers over a pert little nub of flesh underneath the fabric of the white shirt, and it was instead replaced with a slightly surprised little shout that the blond of the two rather enjoyed hearing, and decided he would endeavor to hear again. Leaning down and kissing Reg's skin after he got the shirt completely unbuttoned, his lips travelled gently across the pale teen's chest, apparently finding what he was looking for as his lips gently circled a nipple, which made Regulus squirm.

"Nnnng …" another quiet sound escaped his friend, and this one made Barty shiver, and then endeavor to draw that noise out of Regulus again … And again …

Eventually, the blond lost track of what was happening; he didn't know who was kissing who or what was touching where … It was just warmth and sweat and dizziness, tangled limbs and messy hair and haziness. Whimpers and gasps – did that sound come from him, or from Reg …?

Did it matter?

He had to think that no – no it didn't … All that mattered was the two of them, right here, now, in this moment … Honestly Barty had no idea when they had both lost their robes and shirts – in fact, he wasn't even sure where the clothing was, if it had fallen off the bed or was tangled in the sheets with them, but again, he found himself not really caring either way …

Eventually, the candle light caught the edge of the glass bottle that was still sitting on the nightstand, and the blond paused, at the moment on his back because one of them had rolled them so that the brunet was leaning over him, but he couldn't be bothered to figure out which of them it had been. However, seeing the bottle made him pause for a moment; he had finished the bitter liquid off in a quick swallow … So why did it look like there was more now …? And about the same amount that he had taken again. One dose.

The idea came to him almost before he realized he was reaching out towards the bottle – leaning up and kissing Regulus again gently, he pulled back and murmured in a half whisper, half pant, "R … Reg …" However, his attempt to regain his friend's attention wavered and started to fail as he felt shy lips play across his neck and chest.

"Re~g …" he whined, lightly pushing at the brunet's shoulder and stifling a whimper. This caught the attention of the youngest son of the House of Black, and for a moment, the blond forgot what he had been trying to say. Licking his lips, his eyes closed with a shuddery noise and he pressed a hand against his mouth, ceasing thought and movement for a long pause, feeling nothing but warm, shivery tendrils of pleasure.

"Hmmm …?" the humming noise tickled Barty's chest and he squirmed a little, forcing his hazel eyes open so he could look at Regulus. Swallowing thickly, it took a moment for his thoughts to calibrate themselves, and he remembered what he was going to say … However, with Reg's full attention now, he bit his lip, feeling the sudden grip of uncertainty … The fellow Slytherin so far had been cooperative, even participatory, in their … uh … actions … But, the blond wasn't so sure, when directly confronted with going further … what his friend would think of that …

"I … n-never mind …" he managed, letting out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding; he was fine with this – this was _more_ than enough – it was more than he could have hoped for even on his most optimistic days …

"What … What is it …? What's wrong?" the gray eyed teenager asked between short breaths, frowning a little and attempting to catch Barty's gaze. However, hazel eyes wouldn't meet his – at least, not for a very long moment. When he did hesitantly look up, he licked his lips again, nervously… But eventually he leaned up, pressing up against Regulus and carefully turning them over, pushing him down carefully onto his back. Dodging the questioning look he was receiving, instead running his hands across the Seeker's lean muscles, and following behind his fingers with his lips; wasting time on something that, as far as he was concerned, could never be a waste. Eventually, a bold hand slid down and tugged at the brunet's pants at the waistband, slowly and nervously unfastening them …

He noticed that Reg had gone pretty still, though he wasn't telling Barty to stop – so he didn't, shaky fingers easing them down off of the brunet's hips, worrying his lip between his teeth nervously and glancing at his friend for a moment before sliding a hand between his legs. The blond watched Reg's face with fascination as his back arched up, leaning down and kissing the corner of his lips as Reg made a strangled noise and then turned to kiss him back and cling to Barty as the blond started to move his hand slowly, which surprised him a little.

"There's more … of that potion now …" he mentioned softly, gesturing to the bottle on the nightstand and removing it, and said, "Reg … can …" the whisper was hesitant against the brunet's ear as Barty's fingers traced down lower, faltering a little, ready to pull away at any sign of apprehension from Reg. Eventually, however, his hand found its mark, curling gently on the brunet's backside and squeezing. There were a few moments of confusion on Reg's face, and then, the other sixth-year's cheeks turned scarlet. Immediately, Barty shied away, going to move his hand and forget that the idea had ever even occurred to him …

"I …" he stopped moving when Reg put a hand around Barty's wrist and started to speak, "… didn't say no …" Hazel eyes widened at the implication, and immediately he was sort of flustered,

"I – I mean; Reg, if you don't want to it's …" the blond paused, his words trailing off as he watched his friend's resolved expression, and bit his lip again … He wanted to – he _really_ did, but … He knew that look on his face … He knew what it meant. Regulus had this habit of wanting to _do_ for everyone else, even if it was an inconvenience for him, or he didn't want to … Barty could tell he was uncertain. Normally, he'd second guess his friend and try to do what he _thought_ Reg wanted, instead of what he claimed he was alright with …

And yet … he found that this time, he didn't want to. He was sick of playing these guessing games with Regulus – for once he could do what _he_ wanted, and he knew it wasn't going to hurt the brunet; the potency of the potion would immediately banish any pain or discomfort that would be brought about by it … He fancied that Reg's face was a little surprised when he nodded and moved his hand back to it's previous position, fingers slicked with the slimy liquid from the bottle. He could have been imagining the brunet's apprehension though – he honestly wasn't sure.

"Just … Relax … I won't hurt you …" he murmured softly, kissing his friend's collar bone as he stroked the pliable flesh underneath his finger tips. Barty watched Reg's face carefully, but all he saw on it was an awkward discomfort – no real pain, which made him sigh quietly.

He tried to distract Reg from the strange feeling, using his other hand in more pleasurable areas, which eventually elicited reactions from him of the more vocal, pleased variety. It was an excruciating amount of time he took preparing his friend – but rather than relying on the pain killing draught, he wanted to be sure that there wouldn't be any reason for it to really hurt in the first place … But even Barty's patience wasn't infinite …

Sweat.

Heat.

Panting.

A name; quiet on kiss-swollen lips – the barest of whispers. The movement of their skin was slow and languid – barely there at all … The movements took his breath away, his heart raced – the noises in this dream-like _reality_ echoed and arched; writhed through the air around the bodies that mimicked the sounds. The sounds that danced only for the two of them, hidden in the black, a white-hot crouch against the sheets …

"Nnnnnng … Re-Reg …"

He could hear the brunet making tiny, shuddery little whimpers, and his own breath kept getting stuck in his throat; those noises kept making his heart leap up into his throat as he tried to move slowly … But soon he couldn't take it anymore, pressing the brunet down onto the mattress, moving a short, shivering rhythm. The blond tried to stay quiet; his head was spinning – it was so hot, so good … It didn't take long before he couldn't breathe; didn't know which way was up, and he didn't care. All he knew was Regulus; the strong, dark haired sixth year was what made up the entirety of his universe …

"Nn … Barty …" when the gray eyed teenager breathed that tiny whimper out and tensed, the blond clung to him tightly, knowing he'd found a certain spot and knowing that he should keep finding it … His arms slipped underneath Reg's back and clawed at his shoulders as he panted and trembled, arching closer and closer to something he couldn't quite reach … Frenzied kissing now, he was so close – a trembling hand slid down between them; he wanted Reg to reach the end with him.

The blond cascaded over the edge of oblivion a few moments before Regulus, their names on each other lips as they collapsed, tangled in each other, sweating, hot, and panting, and falling asleep that way between the sheets, forgetting about Hogwarts, it's students, and the rumors that were outside of this dark, candlelit room …

– **Fin –**

Let me just say, I had a TERRIBLE time writing this … Probably the most difficult _vague _lemon that has ever come across my computer screen, which is ridiculous … But anyway …

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEIRIOUS xD

**This is the end of my additions to this fanfic collaboration; please check Little Lion Man for the Epilogue!**

**Footnotes**:

1 – I know the Room of Requirement doesn't produce food/drink, but I'm going with a strict definition of those two things here; this isn't meant for sustenance, it's meant to kill pain, so it's allowed.


End file.
